Sixty Seven
by mcfuz
Summary: Eulalie Valentine-Cook leads a perfectly ordinary life in District Three; that is, until she is selected as a tribute for the sixty-seventh annual Hunger Games. A story of friendship and survival, told in three parts. Includes epilogue. COMPLETE.
1. Part I

_**Sixty Seven**_

**Part I**

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Reaping<strong>

It is a cold morning, and the dark tendrils of Fate have already crept into District Three's dreams, poisoning their hopes and fuelling their fears. There are no screaming children in the square today; no games of hide-and-seek, no tinkering with toys, no laughter, no fun. It seems as though the town is holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable plunge that will snatch two of their offspring away, perhaps and probably forever. For today is the day of the Reaping, and trepidation hangs in the air, waiting to suck all the happiness from people's lives. Today, two families will be saying goodbye to their children. Today, like this day last year, and the year before that, and twenty years ago, and fifty; today, everything will change.

I shiver in the cool light of dawn, breathing in the anticipation and dread that one always associates with the beginning of the Games. Along with this annual scent comes the aroma of technology, for this District always stinks of it. Ask anyone living here, and they will answer you that, though not one of them will be able to say why, or even what technology itself smells like. They just know. We all do.

District Three is like a sprawling machine, never stopping, always trundling ahead, bumbling our way past the poorer districts, but never quite able to reach the heights of One, Two and Four. Everybody living here is part of the giant mechanism, keeping the mechanics working at the right pace. We are all cogs, gears, spare parts, and we should all always be on hand for any malfunction or problem that arises, for that is who we are. That is who we were born to be.

And I hate it.

A light hand on my arm startles me out of my reverie, and I jump, struggling to keep my balance on the sloping roof where I am seated. I squint in the dimness, and my eyes can just make out a halo of golden curls and shining blue pupils. I relax, letting down my guard and reaching out for my companion's hand. Lucah.

He's been my best friend since before I even knew what the words meant. We grew up together, as our mothers were the closest of people, and his parents knew how to support mine when things got tough. Not that our 'tough' was anything compared to real 'tough'. I know we're lucky, but even so, I feel trapped.

I live in Victor's Village. My mother won her Games when she was eighteen. She alone killed half the arena, including her District partner. I can hardly remember her, only glimpses, fragments, of a grey-haired woman, strict in all practices. I don't think love was something she ever felt. After her Games, she married my father for his money, though then she had enough from winning to last several lifetimes. I don't know how my Mum became friends with Lucah's. His mother is warm and kind, with soft brown hair that's always escaping its net, and warm blue eyes. I feel safe when I'm with his Mum, when I'm with Mariette, in a way that I never feel safe anymore with only my broken father and baby brother for company.

My mother died when I was six. I suppose I should feel some sadness at the thought, should feel a pang of grief whenever I walk in on my father crying in the kitchen, holding one of her aprons to his chest. But I don't. All I feel is a great empty blackness, and I know its wrong, but I'm glad I didn't know my mother, for I have heard countless tales from the rest of District Three about how ruthless she was when I was an infant. Back then, no-one wanted to cross Yvette Valentine.

The pressure of Lucah's hand squeezing mine brings me back to the present once more. I'm surprised to see the sun winking brightly at me, just above the horizon. I must have been silent for a long time. But then, Lucah doesn't mind, for he knows me, and knows that it is what I do when my thoughts get too crowded for me to have space to breathe. I escape, but I always return, only because Lucah is my anchor, and stops me from drowning in the sea of my mind.

I smile at him, and he returns it, lighting up his whole countenance with the grin. I laugh, slip my hand from his and slap him lightly across the face. His smile fades, and I know he's thinking about what might happen today. What we may have to lose.

I swallow. Living in the Victor's Village, I have never felt the need to sign up for tesserae. But even though Lucah's mother works hard in the apothecary, and his father in the labs, he and his three sisters have been receiving the tokens since they all turned twelve. I feel an anxious knot in the pit of my stomach, for there is about twice the chance of Lucah being picked than me, and we both know it.

I have tried time and again to give him and his family some of our money. We have far too much for only three people in our household. But every time I offer, Mariette kindly turns me down with a firm smile, and says something inspiring about making her own way in the world. I never understood it. Surely the money would belong to her more than anybody, for it was my mother's, and Yvette's closest friend was Lucah's mother. But still, she refuses, and every Reaping, I feel a broil of guilt in my stomach that is far worse that any number of butterflies. But every year, Megara, Jolene, Constance and Lucah have made it through. Now the two eldest are nineteen, and they're safe. But right now, I'm sweating, thinking of the possibility of Lucah and Constance heading into the arena to kill or be killed. And the one thing I know about Lucah's family, about the Cartwrights, is the fact that not one of them would ever hurt another living thing. And spending so much time with them, growing up with them, I feel the same way. I shudder to think of any of us being picked for the Games.

But no, now is not to time for such morbid thoughts. With Lucah smiling at me, I have something to look forward to. I _won't_ be picked for the Games. None of my friends and family will. It won't affect any of us in the slightest way.

I repeat these thoughts over and over in my head, and then aloud, and Lucah nods.

"I know, Eulalie. I know. You're safe, we're all safe. Nothing's ever going to happen again."

_Again._ I know what he means. He means my mother, and my elder brother. Both picked for their Games at eighteen; one survived, but the other was not so lucky. My heart pangs now when I think of Xavier. He was far, far older than me, but I worshipped him, and seeing him slaughtered, an axe ripping through skin, bone, muscle; it broke us all. It was not long after that that mother died.

Lucah pulls me to my feet, and almost absently brushes a strand of golden hair from my eyes. My heart starts to pound. We've only ever been friends, but now, now I see him truly for the first time, and oh, how I want him close. But he just smiles at me like normal, and I feel my heart sink, stop to race, realising that to him, I will always just be another sister to take care of.

Smiling, trying to hide my disappointment, we jump down together from the roof and land on the sodden ground. We see a crowd gathering, already prepared for today. I bite my lips so hard they bleed. I look at Lucah, see his fierce determination.

"May the odds be ever in your favour," he whispers, and I disappear into the shadows, towards Victor's Village, for the formal dress laid upon my bed for the formal 'celebration'. I shudder. The Districts are nothing more than docile sheep, and the Capitol are the wolves that will rip us to shreds should we ever stray from their plan.

* * *

><p>The body heat emanated from the press of fifteen year old girls all around me takes away the cold that has dug itself deep into my bones. Our Capital representative, with a stupid name along the lines of Floral Holiday, is ranting on about the honour of being picked as tribute. I'm drifting away from her speech, until I hear a faint rustling and realise that she is delving into the girl's Reaping ball. I stand stock still, barely breathing, as I watch her turquoise taloned hands grasping around for a slip of paper. They all seem to slide past her saffron dyed fingers and I hold my breath as one life is saved, then another, and another. But finally, her claws grasp once card and she unfolds it, squinting heavily in the sunlight. I pray, pray, pray…<p>

"Eulalie Valentine-Cook!"

My world stops. I feel the people all around me suddenly rear back, as though I've been tainted. I can taste bile in the back of my throat as I begin to pick my way through the crowd. I'm morbidly surprised by how easy it is. No-one seems to want to touch me now, as though by somehow being close to me, they'll be infected by the Games and have to become the other tribute. I roll my eyes at them, my mask of sarcasm hiding my utter dread. I mount the steps, taking them slowly, drawing out the pain I know my family and Lucah's will be feeling. When I reach Floral, she draws me into a quick hug and I stiffen, not comfortable with such intimacy.

"Wonderful!" She states, and I can feel a headache coming on through the crackling of the microphone. "Wonderful! Simply fabulous! Like mother, like brother!" I stand, stupefied, until I realise what she is referring to. Who she is referring to. My hands curl into fists, and I stare out at the darkening sky, over the heads of the crowd, determined not to show any emotion whatsoever. I can feel the cameras watching me, and so I pull myself together and flash a quick, confident smile in their direction. There, that'll throw them, I think savagely. It takes me a moment to realise that Floral is speaking again.

"And the male tribute is…" I feel a great surge of relief that my baby brother Sean is only eleven years old. I find his face in the crowd easily, his shock of white-blonde hair alerting me to his presence. He looks horror-struck, staring at me like I'm the Grim Reaper and have come knocking on his door asking for a cup of tea. I quickly avert my eyes, knowing I will break if I watch him any longer. I stare up at the clouds hiding the sun instead, and tune back in to the action.

"Royal Springton! Congratulations!"

I feel sick to my stomach as I watch the tiniest twelve year old naturally possible totter up onstage. His face is streaked with tears, and I feel a sudden urge to wrap my arms around him. He stands beside me, and I surreptitiously take his hand. I feel his shock, his terror, but he squeezes it ever so slightly and I smile again, valiantly this time, staring straight at the cameras and giving them my fakest grin.

Floral is speaking once more, but I no longer wish to hear it. A roaring has begun in my ears, and it is just getting louder and louder. I notice nothing else as I'm escorted offstage, towards the Justice Building. I felt empty before, but now all I can sense is hollowness inside of me. I cannot even feel my heartbeat. I wonder if I am even alive anymore.

* * *

><p>There are no words to be spoken. My father is staring at me like a drowning man, sinking into the depths of his mind. I sniffle loudly, and curse myself at the sign of weakness. I lean forward, give him a hug, and then stand.<p>

"You can go now," I whisper, even though every fibre of me is aching to be held by his big, strong arms and cradled gently, being soothed by a soft lullaby into sleep. He stands and staggers off, and only then do I smell the alcohol on him. I stifle back tears, and nod my head to allow the next visitor.

Sean enters, his head bowed, and then I am running towards him and enfolding him in my arms. I suddenly don't care about being strong anymore, and my tears soak the back of his shirt. His is sobbing also, but all I can do is hold him, hold him, and whisper nonsense into his ears.

A Peacekeeper breaks us apart, and I glare at him. He glares back.

"This one's time's up," he says in a gravely voice, and I swallow. I didn't know there were time limits at work here. Sean gives me a terrified look, and I bend down, kissing his forehead. In other circumstances, he would have squirmed away. Now, he clutches onto me, his eyes begging for another kiss. I give it to him, and stand.

"Be strong, Sean," I whispers, and watch him as he exits, looking over his shoulder, drinking in what he believes to be his last sight of me. I don't convince him that I'll win and return; he has seen too much death, too much destruction, to believe that.

The Peacekeeper announces my last visitor. I watch as Lucah enters the room. He seems to be having trouble breathing, and I smile softly, trying to calm him down, but I notice his eyes straying to the tearstains on my dress, and then looking up at my bloodshot eyes pointedly. I sigh.

"Mother wanted to come, and so did the girls," he begins. "But the Peacekeepers wouldn't allow you so many visitors." I nod stiffly, looking down at the ground so I can't see him. It is therefore a surprise, then, when his strong arms enfold me and draw me into an embrace. We have hugged before, but never like this, with my heart pounding against my ribcage. I know he can feel it. I sense him smile.

He pulls back, and I clamp my teeth together to stop myself from whimpering like a baby and reaching out to touch him, draw him closer. He pulls something out of his pocket.

It is a small copper necklace, with bits of barbed wire strung throughout, though it is all smoothly made with no protrusions. I touch it reverently. We made it together as children. I didn't know he still had it.

I let him fasten it around my neck. I hope against all odds that the Gamemakers will let me wear it into the arena. Lucah hugs me again, and this time, his lips brush mine, softly, gently. He pulls away once more, and I stare at him in shock.

The ghost of a smile is etched upon his face, but all he says before he leaves is, "You win for me." And then he is gone, without once looking back.

And I am left alone.

* * *

><p><span><strong>On the Tribute Train<strong>

I stare out the window for as long as I can, desperately training my eyes on the disappearing fences that surround my District. The enormity of the situation has finally sunken in, and I am faced with the possibility of never seeing home again. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

I stagger away from the window, suddenly unable to breathe. I was shown where my quarters were the moment Royal and I alighted onto the train, but even so I am hopelessly lost for ten minutes or so before I remember my room was left, and not right. I veer in the correct direction and, sure enough, arrive at my door in moments. I shake my head, astounded at my stupidity. If I'm this bad on a train, how will I handle myself in the arena?

I open the door and shut it again behind me. There is no locking mechanism. I swear loudly.

On the bed is a mustard-yellow and pink spotted dress which I assume has been laid out for me to put on. I wrinkle my nose at it. I was never one for dresses, and the Capitol won't change that. The only I dress I own is the one on my back right now, reserved for such occasions like birthdays and the Reaping.

Peeling it off, the pink ruffled sleeves causing me annoyance, I stare in dismay at the watermarks and tearstains dried upon the chest and shoulders. I have no idea how they'll be removed, and I worry at my father's reaction when he sees the state of it, when I remind myself that I am never seeing him again. I bite my lips, the dried blood already on them moistening and dripping down onto my thin white slip, which is all I am wearing. I quickly wipe the red liquid away with the back of my hand, and see with a detached interest that it smudges just as if I've been stabbed through the palm.

I yank the yellow dress over my head. It is the perfect fit, and I am rather amazed, since it is very hard to find clothes my size. Lucah often says I look like a skinny little boy, with no curves whatsoever to speak of. I wonder how the Capitol knew.

I glance in the mirror. It seems foolish, but I want to make the best impression I can on Floral and the mentors. My hair is messy now, curling up at the edges so my head looks like a golden dandelion. I grimace, slip on some stockings and shoes, for it is cold inside the carriages, and leave the room.

I enter the dining carriage to find it already full. Royal is sitting at the head, shaking in his Reaping outfit, and the two mentors, Karin Westcliffe and Dimitri Crescent, are seated on either side of Floral. Everybody looks up as I enter, the door slamming shut behind me. Lucah's tribute token suddenly feels impossibly heavy against my neck. I clear my throat hesitantly and take the seat beside Royal, giving him a small smile. He doesn't respond, only stares at me with a glazed look on his face that lets me know his mind is thousands of miles away. I lower my gaze.

Dimitri sneezes, and I hide a smirk as Floral jumps and edges away. I'd heard Capitol residents were extremely wary of illnesses, but I hadn't really given the rumour much thought. It seems now, however, that it was true.

Dimitri smiles at me, a stiff gesture which I cannot return. We've been neighbours almost my whole life, and he was always the nicest adult, apart from Mariette Cartwright, that I knew. Karin glares at me. She's my other neighbour, and from the moment we could walk, she decided that Lucah and I were trouble alright. She's elderly, pushing fifty I'd say, but she always volunteers to be a mentor. I suppose it's because she's so bloodthirsty; she loves watching the Games unfold right before her eyes, instead of on a screen.

Dimitri winks at me. He won eight years ago, the Games after Xavier died, when he was seventeen. I'm surprised by how weary he looks. His wavy brown hair is streaked with grey, almost as if seeing all that death and destruction has taken away some of his will to live. I stare at Floral instead, not wanting to dwell upon what happened to Dimitri and what may happen to me.

Floral Holiday is truly one of the most hideous specimens of woman I have set eyes on. Her skin is dyed yellow, which gives her an unhealthy tinge, and her apple green hair doesn't help much with the impression either. She's always wearing outrageous three-piece suits, and today is no exception. The jacket and pressed pants are both stark white with splatters of red on them that I assume are meant to resemble blood. Her vest is the opposite. I smother a grin. At least seeing all the horrendous fashions in the Capitol will take my mind of the Games, if only for a short space of time.

We eat our meal in silence. Karin keeps shooting me these nasty looks, which aren't helped by the fact that Dimitri is pulling faces across the table and making me snort into the food. It's a lavish affair, with all kinds of curries, puddings, salads, soups, meats…you name it, and it's there. My appetite has all but disappeared, however, and I only pick at a strawberry and mint liquid concoction, accompanied by some red looking meat which I don't touch after the first bloody, juicy bite.

Royal is shovelling down the stuff like there's no tomorrow. I know him from around town, he and his family. They're among the poorer part of our District, but until now, when I see how skinny he is and how much food he's packing away, do I realise just how bad it is, and just how lucky I, and even Lucah, have been our whole lives. It makes my insides churn with guilt.

I push the hunk of raw meat away from me, feeling queasy. Floral opens her mouth to say something, but then spots some sort of thighbone dripping with grease in front of her, and quickly snatches it onto her plate to gobble it up. Once more, I suppress a grin. It really is quite vile how these people can live.

Karin starts asking questions, all related to the Games. _How strong are you? Can you run fast? Are you skilled in any weaponry? Did your parents teach you anything?_

I shrug at every enquiry, smirking as she becomes more and more frustrated. Finally, she snaps.

"I'd have thought, Eulalie, your father would've wanted you to live up to your mother's memory! What a disgrace he did not!"

"What a disgrace you must be to your family too, Karin," I say without being able to stop myself. "With a face like that, it's no wonder you won your Games. Everyone probably died at the sight of those huge, hairy moles." She looks outraged. Dimitri's hand has come up to cover his mouth, but his shoulders are shaking and his eyes are dancing with laughter.

"Well, I never." Karin is speaking stiffly, as though with enormous effort. "Did anyone ever teach you good manners, child?"

"Yes, they did, but with a neighbour like you, things just can't help but go downhill." I grin at her and then, excusing myself, make my way back towards my section of the train. Closing my door behind me, I wedge a chair beneath the handle to make sure no-one pops in when they're not wanted.

I fall back onto my bed, laughing. I shouldn't have said those things but, oh, was it worth it!

* * *

><p>I'm awoken by the soft sound of crying. Sitting bolt upright in bed, I glance around me, terrified of some sort of sceptre lurking in my room. To my relief, I am alone. I flick on the light. The chair is still beside my door.<p>

I can still hear the sobs. I slowly realise that they are coming from the other side of my wall. I edge the chair out from beneath the handle and slip out into a dimly lit passageway. Making my way along to where I know Royal should be, I open his door which, thankfully, he has not barricaded. Walking inside, I shuffle cautiously forward until my fingers find a downy quilt. I sit down uncomfortably, with a creaking of bedsprings. I sense Royal stiffening beneath the covers.

"Shush, Springton, it's me," I whisper, and I feel him relax. Carefully, I stretch out beside him, searching in the dark for his small hand and squeezing it.

"You'll make it through," I say, and I know right now that I will do anything to return this child home to his family. "I promise you that."

And with those words, we both fall asleep, side by side, sinking into dreams uninhabited by the Hunger Games and all its terrors.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Arrival to the Capitol<strong>

My hair is slowly drifting in the odd artificial breeze they install inside the train carriages. I rather like the sensation. My face is plastered up against the window, vying with Royal's for our first sight of the Capitol. It is an easy, fun game, and when the dazzling city space finally comes into view, I find myself unable to breathe.

Twirling spires of glass and towering structures of steel meet my eyes. The flashy lights glint wickedly, and I find myself squinting at the penetrating gleam. Never before have I seen something so huge, so enormous, so terrifying. I am enraptured by its beauty for a long minute, until it processes through the thick skull of mine that these Capitol citizens, who have lived in absolute luxury their whole lives, watch us die for their own enjoyment. It is then the novelty of the city lights wear off, and I begin to notice other, crucial details: the harsh landscape surrounding the oasis of riches, devoid of all life, just rocks and jagged stones littering the hard-packed earth. I notice, too, several clouds of toxic smoke hovering above the skyscrapers, and I wrinkle my nose, though I cannot smell or taste anything through the glistening window glass.

Beside me, Royal shivers. Almost unconsciously, I slide an arm around his waist and draw him in close to me. His head rests against my shoulder, and he sighs contentedly. I stare, fixated, at his mop of dark curls. So like Lucah's, and yet so different. I stifle the urge to run my hand through them, instead just giving the boy a comforting squeeze and setting my sights once again on the scene before me.

I cannot believe where I am right now, or what has happened in my life these past twenty-four hours. All I know now is, when I'm staring down the glitzy glam of the Capitol, I feel a deep-seated rage boil up inside of me. How dare these people look upon death, grief and destruction as something worthwhile? How dare they stare down all twenty-four tributes as if we were pieces of meat?

I can feel my face blazing in the morning sunlight, and out of the corners of my eyes I see my hair rise about me like a fluffy golden halo. I shiver, a cold blade of premonition sliding down my spine. It shouldn't bother me, as I know that I will most likely be dead before my next birthday, but still, I worry. For right now, instead of feeling a sense of protectiveness towards the twelve-year-old beside me, all I can register is the burning desire deep within me to win these Games and escape the claws of Fate that are slowly constricting my lungs, my head, my heart.

And I know it is selfish, I know it is wrong, but I want to slice open every one of the Capitol residents' heads for inflicting this pain upon me. I am becoming a monster, a bloodthirsty beast, and as its rage consumes me, the only logical thought I can muster up and process in my brain is _'What would Lucah think?'_

* * *

><p><span><strong>On the Chariot<strong>

A powdered brush swoops towards me, smothering me in dust as it thwacks my cheeks vigorously. I cough, stifled in the red particles floating through the air. My stylist, Reyna, regards me with amusement. I am not used to this pampering, and she and everyone else knows it.

She steps backwards, staring at me with an artist's eye. I resist the urge to strike a pose. She twirls me around, taking in every inch of my bare body. I shiver. I thought I would be embarrassed, being naked in front of these strangers, but they look and act so differently to the people I know that I feel a sort of indifference to the subject. It's as if they're scientists, and I'm their experiment. The idea makes my eyelid twitch.

Reyna makes an approving sound in the back of her throat. This time, I cannot help but roll my eyes. She tuts at me, and then turns her back, rifling through a bursting wardrobe and pulling out a hideous concoction. I stare at it, wishing my District were anything but electronics.

It is a silvery dress than seems to be made out of some sort of tin foil, something like aluminium. The dress itself wouldn't be too bad, I suppose, if one didn't mind near blinding all their friends and family. No, what makes this dress a heinous crime are the strings of coloured bulbs that wrap around nearly every inch of it. Green, yellow, blue and red little lights wink at me from Reyna's outstretched arms, and I wrinkle my nose. I am going to look ridiculous.

With a heavy sigh, I take the dress from my stylist and pull it on over my head, after the cool silk underclothes. I don't worry about my hair, which is so short anyway it can't really be styled, Reyna having had to settle for curling it slightly. Reyna comes up behind me and zips me up. The silver foil is so tight I can barely breathe, but I'm guessing it makes me look Capitol-stick-thin. Reyna steps back to admire the effect of the dress.

Seemingly satisfied, she scrounges around again in her clothing cupboard and removes a pair of sparkling, sequined mirror leggings. I stare at her in disbelief as she motions for me to lift me leg up. I do automatically, and she whips on the tights, followed quickly by a snug pair of shiny black boots. I must be lit up like one of the Capitol's skyscrapers.

Reyna spins me around again, making sure everything is correctly in place, and then leads me over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. Something emerges from my mouth, crossed between a snort and a gasp. Because I don't look ridiculous at all. Well, maybe a little. But most of all, I think I look beautiful.

I reach out a hand to touch the girl in the looking glass. It seems impossible that I can be this stunning, even in such…interesting garments. The concertina door opens up beside me and I jump, only to see Royal emerge followed by his stylist, Soleil. The former is dressed exactly the same as me, except for the fact that my dress is his shirt and my leggings are his trousers. He gives me a wary smile when our eyes meet. I grin in return, gesturing for him to come over.

The chariot ride will begin in moments. We are both ushered out towards our vehicle. Dimitri and Karin are waiting by the door, Floral a little further off by the back of the carriage. I stifle an outburst of laughter at her pointy plum suit.

I slip my arm around Royal's shoulders and draw him in close to me. He hesitates for only a second, and then relaxes. Karin sniffs disapprovingly and speaks.

"You simply cannot walk out like that, Eulalie. Don't mother him, for goodness sakes."

I snap a harsh retort back at her, and she quails at the ferociousness in my voice before remembering who and what she is, and who and what I am. She rises up on the balls of her feet and is about to deliver my demise by words when Dimitri cuts in.

"Karin, that's enough. It's Eulalie and Royal's decision, not ours." He looks straight and hard into my eyes. I notice with wonder than his gaze is amber. "Eulalie, whatever you do, you just have to remember that from this moment onwards until you either win the Games or die, you are being watched. Observed. Studied. So make every moment count, okay?"

I nod and some of my anxiety must show in my eyes, my face, my stance, because Dimitri immediately steps forward and envelopes me and Royal in a quick hug. I inhale his scent of musk and leaves, totally at odds with Lucah's lemon and smoke smell. My eyes snap wide open. _Why on earth did I just think that?_

Dimitri pulls back and helps up me and Royal. I gaze down into his face for a moment longer, suddenly no longer entranced by his amber eyes and wishing they were Lucah's blue, and then look away quickly. I don't turn back once.

* * *

><p>Lights are blazing down on me, coating my already sweaty skin with another layer of filthiness. Or maybe that's just what it feels like, because when I look up at the monitors, and see them showing District Three's chariot, I don't recognise any part of myself in the stunning female tribute who is smiling and waving, one arm around her District partner, pink-painted lips smiling widely.<p>

I was sure our ensemble would blind all of the audience, but they seem to bathe in our brightness. I can hear some of them even calling my name, over and over, and in an odd, detached way I think of how odd this must look back at home. _Lucah._

The name twists my heart around, and I force my thoughts away from his laughing eyes, his golden curls, freckled skin, soft, soft lips…

The camera shoots to me and Royal again and I see our faces displayed in a close-up on the big screen. We look like siblings, not in appearance, but in actions; my arm around his shoulders, his head leaning against my side comfortably. I celebrate in the fact that the Capitol and President Snow are probably kicking themselves in this gesture of solidarity in a place where selfishness is usually all that counts.

I'm watching the screen again when the camera suddenly cuts from District Four's hulking Careers to the pair of tributes from Seven. My stomach gives a flip, thought I'm not sure why.

The boy is not much to look at. Clothed in green, black and brown, his expression is angry and brooding, his muscles flexing beneath the taut fabric. The girl, however, is altogether different. With hair of brownish-black, average height, slim, the only thing that should be remarkable about her is her snapping eyes. But somehow, I feel drawn to her, and I watch the screen, mesmerised, until the camera cuts away again to Twelve's poor, poor tributes in their baggy miner getup.

I tear my gaze away from the monitors and blow a few kisses to the crowd. I don't know if it's the right thing to do, but I do it anyway. If it's not, at least it'll be worth the look on Karin's face when we finish up here.

And as we are concluding the chariot run, the camera finds my face again. And in it, I see not only a strange beauty, but a fierce determination, indicated in the glint of my hazel-green eyes and the firm set of my lips. A sense of euphoria bubbles up inside of me as I recognise the look of a wild animal, caged and ready to be let loose to rip, tear, kill. Because with this look on my face, I know that nothing will be able to stop me.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Training Centre<strong>

I awake in a cool, dimly lit room. It is more sumptuous than anything else I have ever set eyes on, and for a moment, even in the pale dawn, I am mesmerised by its beauty. But today is not the day for contemplation. Today, the real Games begin.

My eyes drift over to a set of clothes laid out for me for today. It consists of a simple cream blouse, black shorts and belt, and some ridiculous laced things which I cannot tell if they are impossibly high boots or just very strange leggings. I bite my lip, knowing that this is my outfit for the training centre. Sighing, I wriggle out of bed and out of my nightgown, padding my way over to the bathroom adjoining my bedroom. I hop under the showerhead and turn it on, pushing a couple of random buttons that, once I am finished, leave me smelling like citrus and chocolate. I'm dry in moments, thanks to another ingenious Capitol invention, and I quickly run back over to my bed and slip the outfit on. Once again, it fits snugly, and I wonder how on earth the Capitol knows what my size precisely is. Everyone else in my life seems to get it wrong.

I leave the room, not bothering to do anything with my hair. Last night, for some absurd reason, Reyna decided to give me some extensions, and hasn't yet had them removed. They actually don't look half bad, though I very much prefer short hair. But I don't have time to change, so I just leave my golden locks loose.

It's a short walk from my quarters to the breakfast area, and I'm down there in moments. Everybody else has already gathered, and with the exception of Karin, they are all greedily slurping some Capitol concoction. I smile at the expression of bliss upon Royal's face. He's clothed similar to me, though without the laced leggings, instead just wearing durable dark pants. He glances up as I enter and gives me a shy smile, which is a little repulsive given the fact he has food wedged in his teeth. But I ignore that.

Dimitri grins as I enter too, and he nods to a seat beside him, where the table setting already contains a bowl of some sort of broth, a glass of chocolate, and a platter of fruit. I slide into the seat, and he gives my hair a quizzical look. I roll my eyes. "Reyna." That's all he needs to know, and he nods.

Floral clears her throat. "I'm very sorry, Eulalie, but you slept in, and I'm going to have to rush you. Training begins in five minutes." I don't react, apart from wolfing down my food faster than before. In seconds, it is gone, and I'm smiling slightly at our Capitol representative.

"All finished, Floral. Lead on."

I don't know why, but I'm excited for today. The prospect of seeing all my opponents in action should frighten me, but instead all I feel is anticipation at the coming day. My thoughts can't help but stray to the girl from Seven, to whom last night I felt inexplicably drawn to. Perhaps today that mystery will be solved.

Royal stands and I follow suit, along with the rest of the table. We walk in silence, following Floral to the elevator that will take us up to the training centre. She presses the up arrow and turns to face us. "You two will have to go up by yourselves I'm afraid. The mentors are occupied elsewhere today." I'm unperturbed by this statement. Floral ploughs on. "If there is anything you wish to say, do it now, for you will not see each other until the end of your training session." She looks at us expectantly.

Dimitri clears his throat. "Right, well, all I really have to say is that you should try as many things as you can. Get a feel for the arena. Learn some new skills. Practice old ones. Just…don't get on anyone's bad side, especially the Careers. Got it?"

Royal and I nod in understanding. Karin remains silent, staring at me with loathing. As the elevator doors open and we step inside, I flash my sweetest, most sickly smile towards her and, before she can respond, we are heading up, up, up, towards my fellow tributes and our first official dangerous day of the Games.

We are the last to arrive and in every way possible, it is disconcerting. Every head turns our way as we enter. I see several of the Careers openly grin at Royal's diminutive size, obviously picking him as an easy target. The male tribute from Two gives me a smirk, and in return I flip him the bird, an obscene gesture I learnt from Xavier before he died and have never had cause to use until now. He looks shocked, and I raise an eyebrow and turn away.

Slowly, the tributes return to their stations. We've missed the opening talk, but I get the general idea of the centre. I head straight over to the edible plants station, which is deserted. Nature skills are not my speciality, and I need to get them up to scratch. Royal follows behind me, his head hanging, reminded me somewhat of a disconsolate rag doll.

The woman manning the station looks delighted when we arrive, and delves right into explaining all plants and their properties, and what we might face in the arena. I soak up as much of the information as possible, because I know that without it, I'll probably be dead the first day.

We stay there for over an hour. I see some of the other tributes laughing outright at us for spending time here, but I know they'll regret it when the actual Hunger Games begin. Maybe I could poison their food today, and then we'll see who is laughing.

Finally, we finish up. I flash the instructor a small smile, which she returns. I then head over to the knife-throwing station, which is already occupied by the boy from Seven. He's a hulking figure, and I was right last night in my assumptions of his character: he really is angry, all the time.

I pick up a small dagger, testing its weight in my hands. I'm uncomfortable with any weapon, and this knife is no exception. I shrug, turn towards the target, line up my hand and throw. To my great surprise and delight, it lands dead centre in the small coloured circle which previously had been unblemished. I can't hide my grin. All those afternoons playing darts and skipping stones with Lucah have obviously paid off.

Royal has a turn and, as I suspected, he is abysmal, his dagger barely grazing the outer ring of the target. I give him a comforting squeeze, telling him it doesn't really matter, and that his strengths will lie elsewhere. Though we both know I am lying, this perks him up a little, and makes me wonder just how far your own deception can go.

Seven gives me a disgusted look, which I respond by inclining my head a centimetre or so and meeting his eyes. They are plain small stones set far back into his skull, and I wonder if he is really stupid or if he just looks that way.

Seeing as though I need no practice in this area, and knowing that Royal is never going to improve, we head over to archery. Here, it is me who is terrible. My arm just doesn't have enough strength in it to draw back the bow enough to meet the target. I sigh, flexing my fingers which are fast as lightning after so long working with cables and wires. If only archery required more than brute strength in your upper arm.

Royal's not a bad shot here, managing to hit the second ring of colour in the target. I give him an ecstatic smile, while he just stares dumbfounded at the embedded arrow. Before me have any more time to ponder, however, an arrow whirls past me, missing my skull by about an inch, and buries itself dead centre in the target. I turn, expecting to see some sort of hulking, hideous Career, but instead my eyes meet with the girl from District Seven. She quirks her lips in a small smile, and I grin back. She walks up to me.

"You're good," I say, expecting her to shrug and say that she's alright. Instead, she looks me right in the eye and nods, full of such confidence I falter for the first time. Here's a Games Victor, if I ever saw one.

She turns to walk away, but I grab her arm before she can make it more than several paces. She whirls back around, glaring. I plough onwards. "Wait. I'm Eulalie. You?"

She just stares at me for a long moment before clearing her throat. "Sienna." She then turns away again and this time, I let her go. It's clear she has no wish for an alliance. My small hope deflates in my chest as I watch her walk over to the knife-throwing booth and knock the two Careers there now out of the ball park with three straight and true throws.

I turn around to find Royal missing. I panic momentarily, and then reconsider. He's twelve, and old enough to look after himself…isn't he? I spot him hovering by the electronics station, elbow deep in a box of wires and cables. I grin to myself and head on over. The instructor seems delighted to have skilled people with him, and he shows us some more complicated things. I don't say so, but I already know everything he's telling us, that and more. I just smile and nod politely, knowing Royal will need to get up to scratch with some of these electrical snares and traps.

The instructor tells us to just go and do our own thing with the equipment, and that he'll return in a half hour to see our progress. I immediately delve into the box, sifting through its assorted wires, pulling out two dozen or so. Grabbing a few bulbs and other such things from my surrounds, I rig up a very simple contraption. Well, simple to me anyway.

I flick the switch once I'm done, and the various lights begin to flash all colours of the rainbow. A soft music emanates from one of the devices I've attached. I notice that the rest of the room has gone silent. I look up.

All the other tributes and even the other instructor are staring at me and my invention. I realise that to them, the circuit must just look like a messy tangle of cables with no start and no finish. I can feel my cheeks begin to heat, and I quickly dismantle the creation. I grab a dagger from behind me and rig up another maze of electronics, this one a dangerous snare.

Attaching the finishing touches only take moments. I take a small ball and carefully drop it onto a small disc, whipping my hand backwards as fast as possible. Just as well, for the moment the ball makes contact, the dagger is released and drops down to impale the sphere in its dead centre. I smile to myself and stand, not bothering to take apart my trap. The other tributes are still watching, but this time, on their faces is a suspicious wariness, and I realise that by showing my skills, they have all just targeted me as a dangerous opponent, and by extension, Royal as well. I groan internally, but keep the grin on my face. I can't show them weakness, not now, not ever.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. I sample camouflage, but my usually so nimble fingers are hopeless when it comes to art. The agility station is a breeze. I've been taking dancing classes since I was an infant, a rare form of delicacy my mother enforced and which I have never given up. Sienna from Seven joins me again, and surprises me with her grace and speed too. We're pretty evenly matched, and I give her a smile which she doesn't return. Someone clearly doesn't know how to make friends.

But despite her rudeness, I'm drawn to her, and it's with regret that I finish up at my last station, weights, without striking up a conversation. But, as I remind myself, there are still several days to go until the Games. Maybe, just maybe, I can get her onto my side, because if it comes to it, if it comes to just us two at the finish line, I know I will never be able to kill her, and I also think that I will never want to try.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Private Session with the Gamemakers<strong>

I never believed an atmosphere full of burly teenagers would be conducive to study a train of thought, and it seems I was right. Waiting in the prep room for our private sessions with the Gamemakers, constantly bombarded by the sights of hulking Careers arguing, certainly puts a damper on the fantasy I am playing out in my head. I sigh. Even though I'm in District Three, which means I'll only be sixth to present my wicked skills, it's still going to be a long wait. I feel awfully sorry for those in Eleven and Twelve; it's already been an hour, and we're only up to the female from One.

I sense a presence next to me, and I know it's not Royal, since I'm staring at him right now. I suppress a groan and swivel in my seat, coming face to face with a grinning brunette from Two. His face looks like someone decided to render a badly bricked building, but decided to stop halfway through because either way it would be hideous. I smile.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing with a little twerp like him, eh?" His voice is like sandpaper being rubbed against crumbling gravel. I shudder. "We could look after you, y'know, in the arena. Get to know each other. You and I both know you stand no chance alone, Three."

I take a deep breath, telling myself to calm my temper down, but it's no use. Words are building up inside my throat, and to be honest, I have no qualms about using them, especially on someone so vile. I stare Two right in the face.

"Firstly, my name is Eulalie, not Three. E-U-L-A-L-I-E, in case you didn't get that. And you probably didn't, because right now I'm getting the distinct impression that you don't speak English." I feel a strange sense of satisfaction at these words, and I still have more to say. "And I would never partner up with you; you know that, don't you? And not just because you're dumb. Me being seen with such a heinous example of humankind would just put a damper on my reputation, don't you think?"

I can see Two desperately trying to process my words through that thick skull of his, and after a long minute, my spiel finally seems to compute. He scowls threateningly, but all I notice is the fact that his teeth are disgustingly yellow and chipped. I grimace.

"You'll regret that, you know, Three. You're gonna die as soon as you get into that arena, I'll make sure of that." I probably would've felt moderately frightened, if not for the fact his eyelid is having a little seizure, jumping here, there and everywhere, and he doesn't notice any of it. It makes me smile, but unfortunately, he sees the grin.

"You think this is funny, don't you? You're gonna regret the day you were born, Three, starting right-" His knuckles are cracking menacingly, but at that moment, his name is announced for his private session. He gives me the evil eye as he stands, and instead of flipping him the bird as I had done the first day of training, I blow him a kiss. His piggy eyes widen in shock and I look away. He'll be on a warpath to murder me now, but I at least feel some strange satisfaction.

I can feel someone's eyes on me, and I swivel subtlety, trying to pinpoint the culprit. My gaze finds Sienna from Seven, and as soon as I meet her eyes, she looks away hurriedly. Honestly, these tributes seem to have no interpersonal skills whatsoever.

I decide to take action and I stand, making my way over to the empty seat beside her. I notice without comment that her district partner is sitting as far away from her as possible. I quirk a grin, which she doesn't return.

"So…" I begin, fishing around for the least incriminating subject I can think of. "What are you doing tonight?" Sienna gives me the oddest look, a sort of mix between incredulous, dubious, and the gaze someone might give to a very elderly, very deaf family pet. I'll admit, it wasn't the best ice-breaker I had, but honestly, what else could I use? And if she doesn't have a sense of humour, that certainly isn't my fault. But I planned to fix that latter part.

"Ah, I see. Busy, then, huh?" Again, she gives me 'the look'. My smile widens. "Pity. Would've loved to catch up some time, eh? I'll admit, I'm freakily drawn to the surly, serious type. You're just my cup of tea." I see her wrinkle her nose in distaste, and I sigh in exasperation. Has she even heard of the word sarcasm before?

I'm about to say something serious for a change, to see if she responds to that, at least, but my name is called out. I blink in surprise. They certainly moved quickly through both tributes from Two, and Royal as well. A cold blade of comprehension slides up my spine; that probably means Royal didn't do at all well.

I stand, make a salute with my right hand, and direct it towards Sienna. She looks thoroughly perplexed, and I just shrug, entering the training room.

It is eerily quiet in here, because even the Gamemakers seem to have stopped their activities. They're all watching me, tureens and platters and goblets of food and drink laid out before them. The sight is rather disgusting.

I wander over to the electronics station, purposely taking my time just to annoy them. Selecting a few choice wires and other odds and ends, I take them into the centre of the room and kneel down. The moment I touch the familiar texture of the cables, it's as if my brain lights up for the first time in days. I begin to construct a sort of snare, and within a minute, all is ready. I connect the last green wire to a metal fuse by my knee, and I stand.

The Gamemakers are leaning forward excitedly, and suddenly I want to hurt them, shock them, make them feel just how dangerous and wrong the Games are. I bend down again, change a few parts of my invention, and then rise. They still look like little children anticipating a show.

I place my foot above the switch, stare the head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, right in the eye, and press down. With a loud bang, the trap sets off, and a throwing knife I had positioned in the snare is released, lit on fire, headed straight for the wall right above Crane's head. It embeds in the plaster, raining sparks down onto the Capitol residents. Some of them shriek, but the rest just stare at me, horrified.

I sketch an elaborate bow to them, my short hair flopping forward and reaching the ground, and then straighten. I gather the snare into my arms and dump it over by the electronics station. Giving the Gamemakers a little wave, I depart through the exit door.

The dagger is still smoking.

* * *

><p>I am curled up on a blue leather couch, my arm around Royal, his head of dark curls comfortably resting against my shoulder. We're watching the television, as our training scores are about to be announced.<p>

The Capitol logo flashes on screen, followed by a quick explanation of the private sessions. Then, the scores begin. The tributes from One both pull an eight, while – _shock, horror!_ – the foul specimen from Two gains a ten. Then Royal's picture flashes up, one of the only times I have seen him actually smile. It is subtle, small, but a smile nonetheless.

The training score, however, is nothing to be proud of. _Two._ I tighten my arm around his shoulder and stare hard at the screen. My picture flashes up, me looking seriously at the camera, eyebrows raised. I stare at the score, relieved. The Gamemakers have given me a six. Not low enough to be noticeable, nor high enough to be targeted.

I hear Karin give an exasperated groan, and I fix my gaze on her. She returns it for a moment, then quails and looks away. Dimitri catches my eye, then, and smiles, mouthing the words, "I only got a five." The thought makes me feel a little better.

The Careers from Four get a ten and seven respectively, while Five and Six's scores are nothing too flash. When Seven pops up, however, I pay attention. Maybe this'll help me get to know Sienna a little better.

The male tribute pulls a six, same as me. I notice, unnecessarily, that his name is Alistair. Sienna's unsmiling face flashes onscreen then, with an eleven printed below. My jaw drops. _What in the world did she do to get that one?_

Eight, Nine, Ten and Eleven pass without incident, but both from Twelve get ones. I feel a stirring of pity in my chest, as I look at their sad, half-starved faces on the television. They deserve better, truly, they do. Everybody does.

We are all silent for a long time after the announcements. We really should be working on our interview preparation, practicing what we'll be saying and how we will say it. But none of us, not even Karin, seem to be interested. Even Floral is sitting silently, staring down at her tightly interlocked fingers.

I wonder at this silence. It seems odd, a protest of sorts, but looking at them all, from little Royal beside me, to Floral and Karin and Dimitri; I feel the most curious sense of companionship, and for once I am glad to be here. Because back home, my only friend was Lucah. Here, there are so many more people to love.

And so many more to lose.

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Interviews<strong>

The sea of faces before me swims in the glaring light. I can barely make out Dimitri and Karin in the front row, let alone the thousands of others behind them. I am now certain that the butterflies in my stomach have started a riot; I wouldn't put it past them, and it sure as hell feels like it now.

It's the interviews, the night before the Games officially begin, and I'm next up. That brutish fellow from Two, whom I now know to be called Ontario, is successfully fending off all conversation from Caesar Flickerman. Really, I feel sorry for the presenter, whose hair and skin are both sickening shades of scarlet this year, as another one of his questions is deflecting by a well placed grunt. I see Flickerman's eyes dart over to one of the technicians of the Games, and the latter makes a slicing gesture with his finger across his throat. Too little, too late, I think, as Ontario's buzzer goes off.

"Well, now," Flickerman smiles, a little warily, I think. "Off you go Ontario…and good luck! And now, ladies and gentlemen, our lovely lady from District Three, Eulalie Valentine-Cook!"

My legs feel like jelly beneath my body and the added weight of my glittery dress. I'm insanely glad that Reyna didn't give me something floor-length and horrendous, instead opting for short and glitzy. I'll admit, I feel a little sleazy, but it's certainly better than what the female from Four is wearing, which is practically nothing at all.

I take the seat beside Flickerman, settling into the soft cushiony texture comfortably. He gives me a dazzling grin. "So, Eulalie, it must have come as a shock to for when you were picked, hmm? After both your mother and brother…well, let me speak for all the citizens of the Capitol when I say that the odds were astronomical!"

I give him a sage nod. "And yet, Caesar, here we stand." Dimitri and I debated how I would portray myself in the interviews, and after passing along happy-go-lucky, sexy, aggressive and insane, we settled on intelligent. To be honest, I'm not sure how well I can handle that responsibility, so I'm just trying to sound as mature as possible.

Flickerman gives me a surprised look, and his smile intensifies. I suppose nearly every tribute he's dealt with in the past has had either a very low level ability in the art of speaking English, or were too full of themselves to notice what he was saying. "Quite right," he says. "Quite right, Eulalie. And so just how do you feel? One family affected so much by the Games…it must be rather difficult for your father, I would say."

"Yes. Most people would." My family is _off limits_. No-one talks about them in front of me; everyone back home in Three knows that. But then I remember that I'm not in Three anymore; I'm in the Capitol, and here, anything goes. I take a deep breath. "It's devastating for us all, Caesar," I say conversationally, hoping my voice doesn't give away the tangled emotions running through my mind right now. "I mean, my mother was crushed after Xavier was _slaughtered_." I place particular emphasis on the last word, hoping to make it sound like a heinous crime. I see some of the audience smiling and nodding sadly. "We all were."

"But you can't have been more than a child, then."

"That's right. But even a child knows something's up when her big brother never comes home." I'm horrified and humiliated when my voice cracks on that last word, and my throat closes up. I close my eyes, count to three, take a deep breath, and open them to find Flickerman staring at me sympathetically. I continue. "And then, of course, mother died, from shock, I guess. Father was never the same after that." I give a shrug. "But we get along, I guess. We just…never anticipated this happening…again."

Flickerman sighs and the audience follow his lead. I feel a great rush of dislike for them; they wouldn't know the first thing about love and loss, and yet here they are, 'pitying' someone who's lost so much more than most!

I stop that train of thought immediately, however, since I hate self-pity. It's just plain degrading, and I hate attention seeking people, especially those who already get enough as it is.

"I can see how that would be painful for you, Eulalie. Is there anyone special waiting for you at home, then, exempting your family, of course?"

_Lucah._ His name rises to the tip of my tongue, but I hold it desperately. That information is just too…personal to share on live television across the entire country. I lift my chin. "Yes, Caesar, as it happens. There is."

"And perhaps...a clue? A name?"

"Well, I would, but you see, that's impossible." I look the presenter directly in the eyes. "There are so many, you know. Because every single person at home, at District Three, is someone special, and someone I love." I give a shrug. "Giving their names would take all night, Caesar."

I flash him my most dazzling smile, and he soaks it up like a sponge. "Well, you must have a wonderful personality to attract so many friends!" I just give a nonchalant half-shrug, half-smirk to the audience. "And now, one more question before we have to go, I'm afraid…" I hide a smile; it's almost over! Thank goodness. "How hard are you going to try and win, Eulalie? How hard are you willing to work to get home?"

I take a breath. This is the clincher, the one where I know there are only two answers; what I'm going to do, what I know deep down in my heart; and what everybody here and back home expects me to say. _Lucah._ He always told me to tell the truth, even if it hurts. And I trust him more than anyone. _Forgive me,_ I silently plead to him. "I won't try at all, Caesar, because I'm not going home." I stare straight at the cameras as I say this, straight home, my eyes trying to find Lucah's over miles and miles, trying to tell him that I'm sorry. "Royal Springton is going to win these games, Caesar; I'll make sure of that."

The buzzer goes and I stand, without Flickerman asking me to. I can feel the burning eyes of every single citizen of Panem on me, and so I blow a kiss towards the camera, imagining it landing square on Lucah's lips.

Sitting back down on my seat, throughout all the hostile and horrified stares of the tributes, I feel another gaze, more penetrating than all others. I turn my head in that direction, and meet the eyes of Sienna from Seven. I wink at her and, to my immense surprise, I elicit the smallest smile possible.

Maybe there's something human in her after all.

* * *

><p><span><strong>On the Roof in the Capitol<strong>

A cool breeze whips across my face, slapping me into some semblance of waking. I'm shivering, not with cold, but instead with fear and anticipation, because tonight is the last night before the Games begin. Tonight is the last time I will be free.

The interviews were earlier this evening, and immediately after, we were shepherded into our rooms and urged to get a good night's rest. But insomnia has always been one of my fatal flaws, and after an hour of tossing, turning and counting tiny multicoloured sheep, I had to get up and out. Fresh air relaxes me, though up here, on the roof of the centre, the unfamiliar atmosphere threatens to suffocate me. I long for the acidic smoke of home, the buzz of sparks, the creaking of cogs turning. Here, it is almost too still, too perfect. It's like the deep breath before the plunge; at least for us tributes, at least.

I can see the telltale chink in the force field before me; I'm leaning against the railing, and that small silvery patch has just put a damper on my plans to launch myself right off the balcony. Don't get me wrong; I'll do everything I can to get Royal out alive, but faced with the prospect of blood, of knives…of murder, I cannot help but think I'll be useless in the arena. Certainly no-one will want to ally themselves with a girl who vomits at the immediate sight of a wound.

I lower myself to the ground, crossing my legs and playing with my spotted skirt. Looking up into the sky, I can see the moon and the stars, the former waxed to almost full, and the latter sprinkled all about me. It feels truly magical here, and I gain some comfort knowing that this is the same sky that watches over District Three, over Sean, my father, Lucah.

I want to lose myself in memories; I want to build up my last pieces of home so strongly I won't ever forget them, not even in the arena when faced with death. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath…

"_Come on, Lillie! It's easy!"_

_My big brother Xavier is standing on the roof in front of me, his arms spread like an eagle as he takes in a long breath on District Three's air. I'm laughing, and crying, because I'm laughing so much. There's a swaying branch before Xavier; he launches himself off of the roof and catches onto it, swinging himself lightly onto his feet and balancing there. He turns then, and holds his arms out to me._

"_Xavier! Mummy told us not to!" But I can't hide my grin._

"_Mummy's not here, Lillie. Don't worry, I'll catch you." And he does. I run and jump, going as fast as my fat legs can carry me. I land square in his arms, and he squeezes me tight, sitting down on the branch. "See now, that wasn't so hard!"_

"_Again! Again!"_

"_Alright, off you go." His smile is infectious, but all of a sudden I'm serious._

"_And you'll catch me?"_

_He stares right into my eyes, and I clutch a handful of his tumbling dark hair. "Course, Lillie. I'll always be around to save you…" _

I hear a faint scuffling behind me, and my eyes snap open. I turn, and see a shadow approaching slowly. Standing quickly, I brush the tears out of my eyes – _when did they get there?_ – and prepare to accost the stranger. "Haven't you heard of privacy?" I hiss at the shape, and am mortified when my voice cracks with grief. I clear my throat, about to speak again, when I recognise the shadow for who it is.

Sienna from Seven.

I really should learn her last name.

She gives a shrug, and steps into the pool of light cast by one of the hanging lamps. In this dim illumination I can see the circles beneath her beautiful eyes, the red lines throughout their whites. I look away. "Sorry," I say. "I wasn't expecting…well, I wasn't expecting you."

"It happens," Sienna says, and comes to stand next to me. She is looking out at the sky, and I sense her thought of movement before it happens; I fling an arm out before her. She gives me a strange look, and I feel illogically angry.

"Force field," I say. "Unless you want to be burnt to a crisp…but by all means, go ahead." She stares at me, and I can tell she is wondering why I'm so serious, so incensed, why I'm not joking around like usual. I feel a little mollified at that; that she knows me well enough to sense when my mood changes.

"Sorry. It's just…" I trail off, searching for the right word, but am unable to find it.

"I know."

I give her a nod, and we descend into silence. Surprisingly, it's not at all awkward, and I content myself with gazing up at the moon while surreptitiously sneaking glances at her with my peripherals. She's about a half head taller than me, and I'd put her at around seventeen. Two years older than me, then. Her hair is dark and wavy, and loose tonight, fluttering in the shifting wind. I can feel my own hair beginning to come free of its plait; Reyna has me in extensions again, and I find them so annoying I just had to get them out of my face. But I was never the most skilled at the art of tying hair, and now I'm sure mine looks less like a braid and more like a frayed snake of rope.

Surprisingly, it is she who breaks the silence.

"I thought I'd be the only one awake, here…I couldn't sleep, you see." I nod. _Me too. _"And I'm not overly fond of nightmares, myself."

I give another nod. "Sometimes dreams are the worst sort of tragedy, because we can't ever change them. We have to let them run their course, no matter if it's terrifying." I look up from the spot I had been staring at on the ground to find her gaze fixed on me, pleasantly astonished. I feel an urge to lighten the increasingly dampening mood. "That's right, in my past life I was an oracle. Or a slug; either one suits."

Sienna looks away.

"So…"I say. "We haven't really been properly introduced. I'm Eulalie Valentine-Cook. Lillie, to my friends. Well, some of them, anyway."

"Sienna Whishaw."

Trying to start a conversation with this girl I imagine being somewhat akin to pulling teeth.

"That's…great."

Sienna doesn't respond. I take that as an incentive to stay quiet, which is really rather difficult. I content myself with examining my nails, which are small half-moons bitten down to the quick. Interesting.

After a long minute passes without either of us speaking again, I begin to feel my eyelids start to close. My head feels like it's been stuffed full of old gears and wires; in other words, it's heavy. I stifle a yawn.

"Well, Sienna Whishaw…I'm off."

She looks at me, and her face is eerily lit up by the moon directly behind her.

Giving her a little two-fingered salute, I wink. She blinks, and her lips curve into a smile. A feeling of elation bubbles up inside of me; I've achieved something here, tonight, making her smile like that.

I'm walking away, then, and have just turned the handle on the door when her voice rings out behind me.

"May the odds be ever in your favour, Eulalie Valentine-Cook." And I can't help but envision an arrow flying from her bow directly through my chest. Maybe I'm looking too far into this, but her words_ could_ be taken as a threat. Or maybe they're just an encouragement, or a joke, but I seriously doubt the latter.

"You too, Sienna. Break a leg."

And I close the door.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Entering the Arena<strong>

Two minutes.

That's how much longer I will be free for. Two minutes. Only two.

Once upon a time, I had hours, days, years. But now, I have less than anyone I know, because my world will not end when I die. My world will end when the Games begin.

So much death ahead of me. I cannot fathom hurting another soul, but I have watched the Games for fifteen long years, and have seen enough to know that they can change a person in the worst ways, brutal ways, cruel.

One minute.

A smooth voice over the intercom crackles the time and advises all tributes to step inside their tubes. One minute.

I am alone. I know others would have their stylists waiting, watching, but Reyna means nothing to me, and I doubt that anyone cares what I look like in the arena.

The clothes they've given us are strange. A black blouse and jacket, loose and billowing and warm. It suggests cold days and nights ahead. White pants, sure to become stained. Sturdy brown boots, strong enough to weather anything, yet pretty enough to show that they were not meant for such hardship.

I am wearing Lucah's necklace. I can only think of it of his, even though we made it together as children. I reach up a finger and brush it along the ridged texture. It calms me, and when I step into the clear glass tube, I feel no fear.

A panel slides closed before me, enclosing the small space with me inside. I can still hear the intercom through the glass, however. Ten seconds, it says.

Ten more seconds of life.

I take a deep breath, trying to remember home.

_The crackle of wires in the middle of the night. The creaking bedsprings beneath my mattress. The way sunlight bounced off Lucah's blonde curls, the way it caught in his blue, blue eyes. _

Five seconds.

_A hug, full of warmth, love. A fleeting kiss, desire deeply repressed beneath. The long look of someone seeing you for the last time._

I can feel myself rising through the tube, through the air. No longer am I suffocating; the glass panels are disappearing, and a wave of heat crashes through me, my eyes closing due to the harsh glare.

The arena. We are in the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the sixty-seventh annual Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Wow. This is long. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Just a few things; the headings in bold were prompts for this Hunger Games Challenge. The character of Sienna Whishaw belongs entirely to _rainbowpanda0_; we collaborated on this together. She'll be publishing her story soon, too, but they will differ somewhat (our own character MUST survive). _Please fave, alert, review; whatever suits!_


	2. Part II

_**Sixty Seven**_

**Part II**

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Cornucopia Your First Killing in the Arena**

Claudius Templesmith's voice washes over me like a warm wave, and almost instantly, my eyes get used to the harsh glare and I am able to look around the place that will become my prison for the next few weeks. Until I die, that is.

This arena is more normal looking than others I have seen televised. A wall of towering trees lies all about behind me and to the sides, the tips of the pines gradually descending into what looks like a wide valley. The trickle of water awakens my senses, and I see various streams flowing out from the woods and pooling into a small cave straight ahead of me, past the Cornucopia. The cave is a minuscule indentation compared to the gigantic rock face it is situated in, and my spine crawls to think of what horrors may lurk up those cliffs. Past the rock wall, I see the gentle splashing of waves, and standing on my tiptoes I can see the ocean in miniature, seemingly never ending. I'll admit, I'm impressed.

I can't swim, and neither can Royal, so right now I'm thinking our best chances of survival are in those woods. But the trees unnerve me; so still, so dark. I can hear no birdsong from their branches, and no other signs of life in their shadowed depths. I shiver.

Looking around for Royal now, I panic. I can't see him; until I realise that each District's tributes are directly opposite each other, which would only mean Royal is on the other side of the Cornucopia; the farthest tribute from the forest behind me. My heart contracts in fear, and I pray that the small boy is smart enough to go round the outskirts of the bloodbath and then make a dash for it, instead of running directly across. But a sense of foreboding creeps into my mind, and suddenly I highly doubt that Royal will be doing anything sensible whatsoever today.

My eyes find a familiar head of dark hair, and I spot Sienna Whishaw, five tributes along from me. She catches my eye, and I see the tell-tale glint of Victor-like determination in those snapping pupils. I look away.

I feel coiled up like a spring, a spring in one of those children's jack-in-the-boxes, which jumps forth which such fierceness it makes most kids cry. I tense as a loud shriek from the forest sounds behind me. The noise distracts many of the tributes, and so it is that when the gong sounds for the commencement of the Games, only half of us are off our plates immediately. Huh, I think. _Idiots._

And then I am running, running towards the Cornucopia, where I see Sienna take a vicious slice at the boy from Nine. He crumples instantly. By now, the Careers have reached the golden horn also, and I am shocked to see them begin to fight amongst themselves. Other tributes have scattered throughout the open field, but my eyes are only looking out for a single person.

_Damn it!_ Royal's at the Cornucopia, and is lifting a pack from the ground. "Run, damn it, _run!_" I scream, my throat hoarse from the effort it takes me to form those words. Royal glances up at me and our eyes connect for the slightest moment; until an axe buries itself into his back and he thuds to the ground.

"No!" I shriek. "_No, no, no!_" I'm still too far away from Royal to see him properly, but even from here I can tell he isn't moving. "No!" I look around the vicinity, searching…and my eyes find the boy from Seven, Sienna's District partner. And he is smiling at me.

I shout obscenity after obscenity at him, and he turns away, beginning to jog from the Cornucopia. He has no pursuers. _Well_, I think viciously. I can fix that!

I can barely see the other tributes now. My vision has misted over with anger, only focusing on the object of my rage. I race past Royal's prone form, and stumble slightly, turning away from his bloodied back. No, no, _no_, I think. He can't be dead, he can't… But I know, deep down, that Royal Springton will never make it home.

I'm ten metres from Seven, Alistair, now, and he hears my footsteps, smells my anger. He turns quickly, but not quickly enough, for the moment I see those mean, piggy eyes, something huge and terrifying consumes me. I cannot control what I am doing, and so it is with detached surprise and pleasure that I pick up a fallen dagger and throw it, watching its sink hilt deep into Alistair's heart. He looks down, astonished, but at that moment I reach him and push him to the ground. The beast roars with triumph inside of me, but simply killing Alistair isn't enough.

I wrench the knife from his chest, and then plunge it in again, and again, and again, creating a bloodied spider web across his black tribute jacket. I hear the oddest sound, until I realise that it is coming from me; I am laughing. And then it hits me. The beast within suddenly disappears like smoke, and I stare down at the blade dripping red in my hand. A sick feeling overwhelms me and I am about to throw the knife away when a small noise behind me alerts my senses and I turn, lashing out once more with the dagger. It catches the male from Six right in the throat, and he gurgles for a moment before he, too, drops to the ground, spread-eagled beside Alistair.

I stand and back away in horror. The sick feeling has crawled up from my heart and into my throat, and I double over, vomiting what remains of my last Capitol meal onto the trampled grass. I retch again, and then straighten, staggering away from the scene of battle. A ringing has begun in my ears, and it is just getting louder and louder as I survey the bodies before me.

A see a girl's head, separated from her body, but I look away too fast to recognise her. The sight of all the blood sickens me. A crawling on the back of my neck alerts me to a presence, and I turn, seeing a pair of snapping eyes, their owner hidden amongst the shadows of the trees.

Sienna.

She blinks at me, and I stare back, but before I can make any move towards her she turns and is lost in the darkened shrubbery. I look after her for a moment more, and then hear footsteps approaching behind me. Using my peripherals, I observe several of the surviving Careers sneaking up on me. I stifle a sob at the thought of Royal's body being in such grotesque hands as theirs, and I consider going down with a fight, before the image of a single person flashes in my mind's eye. _Lucah._

He wouldn't want me to just throw my life away, even after Royal… I cut back a sob, clench my hands into fists, and then suddenly, inexplicably, break into a run, headed for the woods. I can hear the Careers behind me in pursuit, but not for nothing have I been dancing since I was three years old. I tear through the first layer of trees, branches snapping back and slicing across my cheeks and neck, leaving what I'm sure will eventually become scars.

But I don't stop running, not even when all sounds of pursuit have evaporated, because I know that if I stop, everything will come crashing down upon me and I will probably never stand up again.

And I'm running and running, and tears are pouring down my face, and I don't care that there's cameras watching me, that everybody at home will see just how broken I am, because now, in all honesty, I think it would have been for the best if I died in that bloodbath.

Because then the pain would be gone forever.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Surviving the Arena Part I<strong>

I stumble on a tree root as the first cannon fires, but I quickly regain my balance and keep running, counting the shots in the air as they sound. _Three, four…_ I curse myself for not grabbing at least a backpack from the Cornucopia. Hadn't there been one right in front of my tribute plate? _Seven, eight…_

The cannons stop, and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. All is quiet around me in the dense woodland. It feels almost too quiet… I wish I could make some noise, at least to convince myself that _yes, I exist_, but it's far too risky. If only Royal was here…

_Royal._

The name crashes into me like a hammer blow, and suddenly my knees buckle, my legs refusing to run any further. I collapse onto the ground, my fingers digging through the leaf litter into the hard-packed earth beneath. An escaped tear slides down my cheek, and I wipe it away angrily, probably leaving a great big streak of mud. Good, I think savagely. Because I _don't want_ to be recognisable, I _don't want_ to be me, I _don't want_ to be human…because being human means you can feel the pain, and I don't want to feel it ever again. No, no, _no…_

My human heart thuds against my ribcage, causing me to cry out softly. How could I ever think I could have kept Royal safe? In what planet was I on to believe he would be able to win these Games? My hands curl into fists, dragging dirt and mud and leaves along with them.

I lean my head against a tree, giving in to the prickling sensation behind my eyes. The tears flow out, then, tickling my cheeks as they make their way into my lap, pooling gently before soaking into the fabric of my white trousers, which are already nice and brown. Another cannon shot stirs birds in the distance, a sound reminiscent to early morning back at home, when I would curse and shriek at the wildlife for waking me up so early.

I jolt awake from my daze as the sound rings through my ears. Another tribute dead, and it sounded close…_Careers?_ I tilt my head slightly, my ears desperately trying to find some source of sound, but all is still and quiet around me. I want to scream, just to shake things up a little, but I know I cannot.

Through a gap in the canopy above me, I spot a Capitol hovercraft coming my way. I jerk backwards in fear, but it pauses quite a way from me, lowering down a claw to retrieve what I know is a body. I stare at it, hard, until the claw retracts. I see a dark shape between those metal talons, silhouetted by the sun. I strain my eyes, and could have sworn I see the _drip, drip, drip_ of water – _or is it blood?_ – from the victim's body. I shiver. My legs have gone numb.

Pictures flash in my mind's eye, over and over again – Royal's broken and bloodied form lying on the dewy grass, his dark hair flopping down to hide his face; Alistair's spider web of blood, a flourishing tattoo across his chest; Sienna crouching in the bushes, watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike…

It seems like an eternity before the feeling returns to my limbs. It takes me a moment to realise that my legs can move again; they are shaking badly, but I hesitantly stretch them and discover that the pain actually isn't too bad. Nothing compared to the pain of death, to the sensation of having a blade plunged again and again into your heart that no longer beats…

No, stop, _stop!_ Just stop. Just pretend, for now, that all the blood – the death – never, ever happened, and Royal is only waiting for you by the river, the river which you can hear flowing gently behind you…

_The river!_ My eyes snap open – I didn't even register them closing – and I stand up so quickly the world fades to black for a moment or two before coming back into focus. Up until this moment I hadn't realised just how thirsty I am; just how dry and crackly my throat feels.

Surveying my resting area, I realise how conspicuous it is, how easily one may tell that I have been sheltering here. I take great pains to disguise it from prying (_murderous!_) eyes. I scatter leaf litter over the small indentations I left on the ground, and I carefully dust away any footprints left by my heavy Capitol boots. I realise now that I have been reckless; for though I was silent in my progress from the Cornucopia, my tread still left marks in the grass and the branches I ran through are almost all broken and pointing my way. _Damn…_

But remember, a small voice pipes up inside of me, you were far too grief stricken to worry about any pursuers, and besides, if they had followed you, you would have just killed them; a knife in the back, perhaps, or an axe through the skull…

And suddenly an image comes to me, unbidden, an image I had forced myself to forget a long time ago. Another field. Another Cornucopia. Another Games… Xavier lying face down in a pool of blood, blood that is slowly dripping from the wound in his head, blood that is seeping out from beneath the embedded axe like a leak in a kettle…

_No, stop!_

I press my hands up against my face, digging my fingers into my eyes, trying to force the memory to disappear. And it does, only to be replaced by something else…

Lucah's smiling face, the way that one stray curl stuck out from the rest, the feel of his bare chest against my splayed palms, wet with bathwater, as we laughed and splashed together.

A sense of calm washes over me, and slowly, so slowly; I uncover my face and take a deep breath. _Lucah._

I smile, straighten the shoulder of my jacket, and plunge into the woods, following the sound of the rushing river that reminds me of water swirling down a drain once the plug is pulled, swirling down and down with a great roar into the dark abyss.

* * *

><p>The moment I reach the river, I know something is up. A smell of wrongness exudes from the water, and the liquid itself is black as pitch. I kneel down slowly, hesitantly, and examine the water more closely. No fish swim in it; no river weeds waft gently in its current. Yes, it's poisoned alright.<p>

I recall that last death, the body dripping with – with something. River water, perhaps? Because this water does indeed look bad enough to kill. I shudder, thinking how lucky I am to have recognised the poison before taking a sip.

But this leaves me with a problem; my thirst. If I cannot drink from the river, then where can I? I puzzle the question for a moment. Of course there was that small ocean next to those cliffs by the Cornucopia, I muse. That water could indeed be fresh and fine to drink…but surely there would be something more than just that?

My gaze falls up the ground, which is mud beneath my boots. Mud…

I dig my hands into the dirt, scooping away the soggy brown stuff, feeling it becoming wetter and wetter. _Yes!_ A small puddle of water bubbles up in the hole I have dug; I delve deeper, and soon have a dinner plate sized amount of liquid. It is brown, yes, and riddled with dirt, but when I taste it, it is sweeter than anything else I can remember.

Stupid, _stupid _Eulalie, I chide myself. Because I have no pack, I have no flask for the water, and no food, no blankets, no weapons… Weapons, _no._ I wouldn't want them anyway.

I glance around, taking in the dense undergrowth surrounding me. A smile forms on my lips; I recognise many of the floras here from the hour or so I spent at the edible plants station in the training centre. This'll only be too easy.

Gathering various berries and fungi and leaves, I remove my jacket – the heat is getting to me anyway – and wrap up my findings in the fabric. Securing the bundle with the sleeves of the jumper, I head onwards, ever, ever onwards.

* * *

><p>Night falls quickly in the arena. It seems that only moments ago I was trudging along a dappled sunlight path in the forest, whereas now I am struggling to see even my hands when they are right in front of my face.<p>

I walk headlong into a tree. Cursing softly, I listen around for any other signs of life. I can't hear a thing. I carefully sit down, positioning myself in the great roots of the tree until I'm comfortable. The air has definitely dropped in temperature, and I shiver. The Capitol emblem suddenly flashes up in the night sky, proving me with enough light to empty the contents of my jacket-turned-rucksack onto the ground and wrap myself up in it.

The anthem is playing now, and I make sure I don't move a muscle throughout. These people deserve no acknowledgement, no respect from me, from anyone.

The anthem ends, and the logo is replaced by Royal's unsmiling face, his eyes dark and wary, far too watchful for someone so young. But he'll never grow up, grow into them… I don't fight the tears that start to silently stream from my eyes. Oh, how I wish my heart could be made of metal, or that I could have none at all, because it hurts, it just hurts so, _so_ much.

Royal's face is replaced by the smouldering beauty of the female from Four. I fish around for her name…Coral. Yes, that's it. Coral and Ryan from Four. I watch the sky for more announcements of death. I counted nine cannons throughout the day, but I could have been wrong.

The males from Six and Seven – that's Michael and Alistair, I think absently, and I felt their blood on my hands, for surely Six was the boy I stabbed through the throat – follow. Then the girl from Eight, the girl from Eleven and both tributes from Twelve. I feel a stab of pity in my gut as I look up at those faces, those faces of the dead, even when Alistair's flashes brightly. Yes, he killed Royal…but it was only for the Games, it was all part of the Games… I'll kill the Capitol, I think blindly, rage consuming me. I'll kill them all where they sleep, and then see just how entertaining they find _that_…

Sleep claims me before I can think of anything more, dragging me into the great chasm of nightmares and screams and grief and death. But somehow, it is better than being awake, here in the arena. Far better.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Surviving the Arena Part II<strong>

I'm awoken the next day by the sound of the cannon.

I open my eyes and stretch out my legs, uncomfortable and cramped. I sit up slowly, my back cracking slightly, and realise I have spent the entire night curled up between two great roots of an oak tree, cradled by the leaf litter. I stand, vigorously rubbing the numbness from my legs. Glancing around, I can't shake the feeling that the tribute who died mere moments ago was somewhere very close…

I survey the area around me and pick up the pointiest, most portable stick I can find. I prick it into my finger, to test it, and it immediately draws blood. The sight of that dripping redness sickens me, and I quickly wipe it against my pants. I thrust the stick into my belt and shrug on my jacket, which I used last night as a pillow. Quickly eradicating any signs of my sleeping here, I set off.

I'm not really sure where I'm headed. I vaguely remember a replay I watched of the second Quarter Quell, where the Victor had said to his ally that the arena must end somewhere. I suppose he must've been right, but I don't voice that opinion out loud, seeing as though I also remember each and every one of his family members were murdered. My thoughts flick to Sean…_no_, it's best not to stir up the Capitol now, somewhere so public and exposed. Best to wait until we can attack them from within.

The chopping sound of a hovercraft's blades sounds throughout the morning, and I freeze. Crouching down behind a dense bush, I watch the aircraft zooming towards me. I hold my breath, and it stops barely one hundred metres from where I am. My apprehension builds. A claw reaches down into the trees, and then retracts – carrying a body. My insides freeze. If that's where the tribute died…I would have been barely ten metres away from them!

I fill my cheeks with the warm air and then puff it back out again. Someone killed that tribute…someone who's probably stalking me now.

I stand quickly, and remove the stick from my belt, opting to have it out in the open. I take another deep breath, steel myself, then set off again, making sure to tread as quietly as I can and disturb as little of the nature around me as possible.

After about an hour, or so it seems to me, I realise that I cannot continue any longer; I need something to eat, and fast. I glance around my surroundings. The woods here are different to what they were when I first entered them; denser, darker, spookier. I find I don't mind one bit.

I size up the tree closest to me. I don't recognise its species, but it has branches low to the ground that continue up high, and that look easy to climb. I grab some berries I recognise from my course in the training centre, along with some reddish leaves and bark off a skinny bush that I vaguely remember. Hopefully none of it's poisonous.

I return to the tree, stuff the food inside my pockets, and grasp the branch lowest to the ground. Close as it is, it is still a good half head taller than I am. I take a deep breath, brace one of my legs against the trunk, and attempt to haul myself up.

After an exhausting ten minutes or so, I have succeeded in climbing onto the third branch from the ground, but anything more defeats me. I blow out what breath I have left in me and suck in some more. If I pull the branches out over me, I may be hidden from anyone standing below…

I lean forwards, reaching for a bunch of leaves that are just in front of me…and I slip and fall, my balance failing. I let out a small yelp, then immediately clap a hand over my mouth. And that does it. I stumble from the third branch, bounce down to the second, then thud straight to the ground. I swear quietly, my arm and spine both on fire.

I glance down at the former, and almost throw up. The branch I had found earlier to use in self defence…it has impaled my arm, jabbing right through the skin, muscle and tissue and coming out the other side. I stifle a scream, then brace myself and grasp the end of the stick, shifting it slightly. Immediately, intense pain racks up my arm, and my spine arcs, making the pain there even worse. I can't even think about what's wrong there. I bite my lips, drawing blood, but don't lessen the pressure. I breathe heavily out through my nose, nostrils flaring, and then – I pull out the stick in one swift movement.

This time, I shriek, unable to contain myself. I can only hope the other tributes take it for a large bird dying from suffocation, or something like that. I register that my eyes are closed. I open them slightly, just a tiny slit, and almost faint. The wound in my arm is a gaping hole; I can see the ground through it. This time I do throw up, retching quietly, but there is nothing in my stomach to bring up, so blood decides to come out instead. I grimace and wipe my hand (on my good arm) over my mouth. I gently pull off my jacket, but even that small movement spikes the pain in my spine and arm. I pause, bracing myself, and then rip the jacket off, throwing it to the ground beside me. I half-smile.

The lining of the jacket is soft and white, designed to keep its wearer warm during the winter. There is a small hole in it; from what, I can't imagine. I wedge my index finger through it, making it big enough for my mouth, and then sink my teeth into the fabric, ripping across it. It tears loudly, and I freeze, then decide, _what the hell!_ I rip it the rest of the way, and am about to wrap it around the _freaking hole_ in my arm when a thought occurs to me. How many times had I seen someone die from an infected wound? The answer was, not many, but I knew enough about it to know I should be wary.

I dig my good arm into the dirt beside me and scrape back the dirt until the sweet smell of earthy water reaches my nostrils. I don't pause to think about whether or not it is sanitary or not; I just reach in and splash it over my wound.

Oh, _shoot_, it burns!

I grit my teeth, and then awkwardly tie the white strip of fabric over the searing wound. I let out a small whimper, watching the blood stain the makeshift bandage red. I wrap it around as many times as I can, then tie a triple knot at the end and let my arm flop down to the ground.

The pain in my spine is now quite overpowering. I gingerly reach my good hand behind, slip it under my shirt…and feel something wet and sticky. Blood. Shit.

I take a deep breath, probably my billionth today, and remove my hand, pressing the fabric of my shirt down against the wetness. It hurts, _oh, crap_, it hurts, but when I get used to the sharp, stabbing pain, I realise the pressure has actually lessened the pain somewhat. I feel an odd urge to let out a deranged laugh.

I brace my good arm against the trunk of that bloody tree and using it, I can push myself upwards and onto my feet. The pain from both my arm and spine is now only a dull, but incessant, ache. I ignore it, picking up my discarded jacket and wrapping it around my waist. I contemplate choosing another stick for a weapon but decide against it. I don't need a repeat of what just happened.

I sniff deeply and, once again, begin walking. It only occurs to me that I am still hungry at least an hour later; after all, that was what started it all. I reach into my pockets and pull out the now crushed berries. Not caring, I stuff them into my mouth, following them with some disgusting chewy leaves and crunchy bark. I swallow it all and almost bring it back up, but force my stomach to stay settled. I kneel and dig until I find some water again, then sip from it until I am satisfied. I fill the hole back up and continue on, my arm throbbing by my side.

* * *

><p>The sky darkens quickly, but I am unsure whether it is actually caused by the time of day or just my slowly decaying vision. The dull ache in my spine and arm that seemed so manageable scant hours ago is now impossible to ignore; it fills my veins, my blood, my limbs, pulsing incessantly and working like poison. I don't even notice my hunger anymore; it is quite overpowered by the pain. When I can no longer see the path beneath my feet, I know it is time to stop; my legs refuse to cooperate in the way I want them to. They stay stiff and rigid, and at the precise moment I am bending down to smack some sense into them, they give, my knees wobbling like jelly and crashing me to the ground. I land on my spine, and I scream.<p>

Oh, God, how I scream.

It takes me a long moment to get my jaw muscles working and to shut my damn mouth. I can feel tears running down my cheeks as the suppressed shriek builds up inside me, but I don't care. I bite the insides of my cheeks, tasting the metallic tang of blood, a metaphor for the degrading steel and resolve within me.

I can't win these Games. Was I so mad to even consider such a possibility? Was I so deluded as to think I'd see my family again – my father, Sean, Lucah…?

_Lucah._ Oh, God.

This time, I have to bring my good hand up to my mouth to cover up the horror and pain I feel inside. My bandaged arm lays skewed at an awkward angle on the ground, shooting spikes of _thathurts-thathurts-ohGodthathurts _into my body, my brain, my heart, but the grief within me gives me the strength to ignore it.

I curl up into a ball, on the ground right out in the open, and cry. Silent tears stream down my face, clogging up my nose and closing my throat, but still I cry. And when it is impossible to breathe, when the gulp of air I try to take cannot make its way into my lungs, for one wild moment I am tempted. Oh, I am sorely tempted to just end it all here. Me, alone, my arm beginning to fall off, my back sticky with blood; I am tempted to just stop breathing for a few moments longer, to see my last sight of this world…

But I cannot.

I sit up abruptly, and my throat opens again, my mouth jerking awake from its slumber and sucking in huge amounts of oxygen. The tears have reduced me to hiccups, and I slowly cough and splutter my way into some form of sanity. At least, that's what I tell myself – until I see the flash of snapping brown pupils in the leaves to my left.

I stand up so quickly the world spins. Someone is here, watching me…and I think I might just know who.

I walk on for a little while, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder every few seconds. If I'm right, if it _is_ her following me…I don't want to scare her away.

Once I've found a nice little clearing hidden behind copses of shrubbery, I relax, carefully lowering myself to the ground. I highly doubt anyone but she will be able to find me here… Just as that thought crosses my mind, I catch another flash in the darkness, this time a pale face with a firm mouth framed by wild brown waves. I suppress a smile, suddenly happy, though the pain has become no less.

I glance around me, shuffling my way across the clearing, ripping leaves off some bushes as I go. I recognise them all; hoop-berry foliage disguised as brambles, red-oak bark, honeysuckle flowers. I have gathered quite a feast by the time I come full circle in my little clearing; I relax again, wary of my arm and spine, and arrange myself until I've achieved some form of comfort. I then spread out the food on the ground and divide everything evenly, until I have two perfect servings. I push one of them an arm's length away from me, then relax back into my sitting position and begin to devour the other. I don't take my eyes off the wildlife in my hands – I don't want to convince her to join me. I want her to choose that for herself.

When I am half-done with my meal, I turn my head to the tree beside me. "I haven't poisoned it, you know," I say conversationally to the pine. Thankfully, it doesn't respond. I pause for a long moment, then shrug, turning back to my meal. The moment I take my eyes off the tree, however, something drops to the ground beside me with a soft _thunk_. I tilt my head slightly to the left, and see her crouched in a defensive position, watching me carefully. I smile nonchalantly at her, and she stands, walking over to sit opposite me.

Sienna.

She dumps her three – _three?_ – packs to the ground and sits down cross-legged with an ease I envy in my weakened state. She glances down at the meal, but doesn't touch it. Instead, she speaks. "If you don't treat that arm, it'll fall right off."

I search her face to see if she's joking, but she looks dead serious. I clear my throat. "Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I didn't come prepared…unlike _some_ people." My gaze lingers on the bags beside her. She doesn't react to my jibe, only saying, "I have bandages to fix it, you know."

"Well, that's great, but of course you wouldn't want to waste them on little ol' me, would you?" She doesn't smile. I plaster on my martyr expression, thrusting out my arm. "Well, if you must," I sigh dramatically. Still she doesn't smile, just unzips the pack closest to her, removing a roll of white gauze, and then proceeds to rip my makeshift bandage off me – along with a chorus of _ohcrap-ohcrap-ohGodyoubitch _– and rewrap her own around the gaping wound perfectly. She finishes by typing the stuff in a triple knot, and I marvel at the way pressure on the pain makes it hurt far less. She twirls her finger in the air, and I understand; I spin around on the ground so my back is facing her. She mercilessly lifts up my shirt, ripping away the dried blood from my back and probably some skin as well. I bite my lip to stop myself from going mental.

She wipes the blood down with a damp cloth – damp with what, I don't know, and don't really want to ask – and then wraps another bandage around my middle; the wound must be worse than I thought. She drops my shirt down, then, and I turn back around to face her.

Her food is still untouched, and I roll my eyes.

"You know I haven't spiked it, Sienna." My voice is croaky. "You saw me, I know you did." She meets my gaze for a second, and then drops hers. I'm surprised, but make no comment. Her fingers reach out to the food, and in the blink of an eye she is wolfing it down. It takes only seconds for her to finish. I stare, and she shrugs, then stands.

I frown after her. "Thank you," she says softly, looking anywhere but my face. She picks up her packs, then turns and begins to walk away, and suddenly I know what she's doing. I stand, trip, then stand again, jogging after her. She continues for a minute or two, then stops and swivels so abruptly I bash right into her chest and bounce off. I swear.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think?" That I was some kind of rapist out to get her? She doesn't answer, and I sigh. "We're allies, you fool!"

"What?"

"At least, we're about to be." She stares at me like I'm some sort of freak. Which, I suppose, I am.

"No way," she says so forcefully I almost believe her. But then I remember just who's daughter I am.

"Excuse me," I say loudly, standing on my tiptoes to meet her eyes. "We _can_ be allies, and we _will _be, Sienna Whishaw. And don't you go saying anything otherwise, or I might just have to kill you." I'm joking, of course, but then I remember than Sienna is not a humorous person; but it seems that this time, a miracle has occurred. She understands!

"Fine," she says, and the way she spits the word out, the way she screws up her face, gives me the impression of poison emptying her veins. "Fine. But you slow me down, Eulalie, and I will leave you."

"But weren't you following me anyway?" She has no answer to that, instead huffing and puffing and then spinning on her heel to continue on. I follow two steps behind, unable to keep that stupid grin off my face, because even though we're in the Games, even though only one of us can win…I rather think I've made a new friend.

And a _ninja-scary-killing-machine_ one at that.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Surviving the Arena Part III<strong>

We walk for a long, long time, even though it was growing dark when we had set out in the first place. The anthem has come and gone, with only the face of the male tribute from Eleven illuminating the sky. By the time Sienna finally calls it a night, I can't even see my hand when it is an inch away from my face. I've had to rely on my ears for most of the trek, a fact which Sienna seems to have ignored. But I brush that thought aside, for after all, she didn't particularly want my company in the first place.

"See that tree?" Sienna says at last. At least, I hope it's Sienna and not just some disembodied voice conjured up by my disjointed, tired mind.

"Ah, let me think…no."

"No?"

"No, of course I can't see that ruddy tree. I can't even see you!"

There's silence for a long moment after I speak, and then I hear the zip and buckle of a pack being opened. I tense. "Sienna?" I whisper, but that's as far as I go in my enquiry, as just then a hand loops over my mouth, while another forces something uncomfortable over my eyes. I shut them instinctively, and squirm in the mystery grasp, when an exasperated hissing sound alerts me to the fact that no, it isn't a random tribute groping me from behind, but yes, it is in fact Sienna and she's rather annoyed.

I stop wriggling at once, and open my eyes, expecting to see nothing…but instead, being able to examine the space around me in perfect detail, albeit bathed in a strange greenish glow. I swivel my head slightly, and spot Sienna smiling bemusedly. As soon as she registers me watching her, however, the grin slips and she turns away. _So much for friendship_, I grumble silently.

"Right, _now_ I see the tree," I say, unable to comprehend how I could've missed this monster of a thing standing all of two feet from me.

"Good," Sienna says, turning to face me again. "Come over here and I'll give you a boost up."

I stare at her incredulously. "You've got to be joking. Climbing up a tree is how I got this effing big hole in my arm." I wave the offending wound in front of her face for good measure. Sienna doesn't even blink.

"I'll help you up this time," she says. "And…I'll strap you in." She removes the belt from her pale trousers – how on earth she's managed to keep them still looking pale, I'll never know – and shows it to me. "It should hold you in place for the night."

"Should?"

She gives a shrug. "These are the Games, Eulalie. Do you want to sleep on the ground and get slaughtered by Careers while I watch you from above?" I shake my head mutely. "Good. Then come over here, and I'll give you a boost."

I walk tentatively over, and Sienna braces herself against the tree trunk. "Come on then," she says, and I step onto her interlocked hands. Her lips firm into a thin line, but she says nothing. I haul myself up into the precarious position. "Ready?" Sienna grates out, and I nod. She carefully lowers me slightly, then pushes up with all the force she's got, sending me headfirst into the branch above. Luckily, my good arm has the sense to wrap around the branch, and I haul myself quickly up, ignoring the splices of wood currently delving themselves into my palms.

"Do you need a hand, or…?" I never finish my sentence, because Sienna takes several steps backwards then takes a flying leap at the tree, catching easily onto the branch I so painstakingly climbed over, and swinging herself on top with the ease of someone who's been doing it their entire life. Hmm…District Seven, I think. Lumber. Wood. Trees. _Duh_.

We continue on like this for at least five of six more branches, until we're high enough that I cannot bear to look down. I cling to the trunk, ashamed to feel terrified tears leak their way out of my closed eyes. I blink them away and sniff deeply, slowly relinquishing my death-grip on the tree. Sienna gestures for me to sit and get comfortable, and once I do, she leans over, deftly winding the belt around my upper thighs and the branch I'm sitting on. I close my eyes again; frightened that she'll fall and will become Sienna Shish-Kebob Whishaw, but then I hear the crisp sound of a buckle and the slight shuffling of her jacket against her shirt as she sits back down. I crack open an eyelid, pleased to see my companion hasn't turned into a pancake. She sees me watching her. "One of us could take watch, but I really doubt anyone will have come as far as us yet, and besides, we're invisible from the ground, so…good night, Lillie." She swivels slightly in her position so that all I can see of her face is her stark white cheekbone. I feel rather deflated, but I'm not sure why; after all, I seriously couldn't have been expecting slumber party secrets being shared, could I?

With one last look at her, I carefully remove the glasses from my face, and stuff them down my shirt. There's nowhere else to put them that I can see, as there is really nothing I can see anyway. I jiggle the glasses around until they no longer poke into my rib cage, and then I close my eyes for the last time and will myself to sleep.

Strangely, it works, and within moments I've succumbed to the slumber Siren's sometimes deadly song.

* * *

><p>As soon as my eyes open, I know something's wrong.<p>

It may be to do with the fact that there is a burning pain all the way around my midriff, as if an iron band has wound itself around and around my stomach. It may also be due to the fact that, in the pale morning light, I cannot see Sienna anywhere.

But I think the main reason is the fact that I'm hanging upside down.

I stifle a scream as I come to realise that with a jolt. The ache around my stomach is because of the belt that was to hold me in place last night. _Ha!_ Fat lot of good that bloody did.

My limbs and hair are hanging straight down, and I try to give them a little wriggle to see how much movement I have sustained. Zilch.

"Sienna," I whisper, my heart thumping in my chest. "Psst. Sienna?"

I hear a muffled sound, as if someone has spoken through a mouth full of cotton, and then a dark head pops down beside mine. Even the wrong way up, I can tell she's trying not to smile. I frown. "Get me out of here, before this friggin' belt of yours cuts me clean in half!"

I see Sienna reach down out of the corner of my eye and grab my arms, swinging them until she slowly inches me back the right way up. I'm now sitting on the branch I was hanging from moments before. Sienna quickly unbuckles the belt that's been digging into my skin for goodness knows how long, then refastens it around her own waist. She stands up easily on the branch, not holding onto anything for support, looking for all the world as if that is where she belongs. She looks down at me expectantly. In response, I swivel and wrap my arms around the trunk of the tree. No way in _hell_ am I letting go!

I hear Sienna sigh, and then a strong arm encircles me and drags me to my feet. I close my eyes. Sienna sighs again. "Look, do you want to fall and die?" I shake my head, wait for a long moment, then open my eyes the smallest crack. I can sense Sienna's smile, and together we wind our way back down the branches towards the ground. I don't speak until my feet are firmly planted in the soft dirt and dry grass. Only then do I release the breath I never realised I'd been holding.

Sienna gives her shoulders a roll, dumping the three packs she carried down onto the ground. "Breakfast," she says. I look around carefully, spotting various edible substances. I hobble over to a hoop-berry bush (my legs still asleep from their sojourn upside-down) and strip the branches of their leaves, bringing them back over to Sienna. In the meantime, she's raided the wildlife around us too, and we've amassed quite a feast. We sit down, and begin to pick at the meal.

I'm crunching on some roots, trying to take my mind of the strange feeling of wind whistling through the great ruddy hole in my arm, when my eyes are inexplicably drawn to the three packs strewn haphazardly across the ground. I pause mid-chew. "What's in these?" I say, pointing to the closest bag. Sienna looks over her shoulder.

"Oh, them. A few weapons, some rope, you know, the usual…" She swallows her mouthful of food. "This one, though," she says, kicking the bag closest to me, "this one's absolutely useless. Nothing but a bunch of wires."

My ears perk up at her words. _Wires?_ I repeat the question out loud, and she nods, looking confused at the ecstatic smile I can feel spreading across my face. I scramble forward, crushing half the berries Sienna gathered, and snatch the pack into my arms. I unzip it slowly, not even daring to hope… But when I do get it open, I can't resist the urge to laugh and a small giggle escapes my lips.

Cables, wires, fuses, batteries, switches…you name it! The pack's got everything. I wrench my eyes away from this wonderland of technology and look up at Sienna. "This is totally brilliant," I grin. "You've no idea what I can do with these…we'll win the Games in a matter of days!" Another laugh bubbles to the surface, but this time I suppress it, ending up snorting profusely. But I don't care, because with this pack on my back, I feel like I can conquer the world.

* * *

><p>We're walking. Again.<p>

It's about midday, by my reckoning, though I wouldn't trust the thought in the slightest, seeing as though only the smallest part of the sunshine is filtering through the canopy of leaves above us, and I'm not particularly known for my orientation skills.

Sienna's ahead of me, never relenting in her pace even though she's got two packs strapped to her back. I'm only carrying one, and I'm sweating like a bloody icicle in the summer.

I think she's surprised by how silently I can move. I suppose she expected me to be some sort of giant klutz, and in a way I am, but not for nothing was I the unchallenged victor of fifteen years of hide-and-seek with my brothers and Lucah.

Lucah. His name pulls on my heartstrings, and I stop walking for the beat of a second, trying to rein my thoughts in. _Don't waste time, Valentine-Cook! You've got these Games to win! _I'm about to place my next foot forward when I hear the slightest rustle of leaves to my left. I suppose it could be some sort of animal, a rabbit or the like, but somehow, I can't believe that. Somehow, I have the worst feeling that we're being followed.

"Sienna!" I murmur, almost inaudibly, but she hears me. Her head whips around and she's by my side in an instant, the look of dread on her face confirming my suspicions. She tilts her head in the direction of the sound, her long eyelashes casting shadows down her cheeks. Her neck snaps back towards me and, quicker than I can ask _what the hell she thinks_ _she's playing at_, she's hoisted me onto her shoulders, run forward and deposited me onto the highest branch around that's possible for me to reach.

"Climb!" she whispers, releasing her back of the bags she was carrying, and carefully removing first one dagger, then another, then two more. "Go!" she urges, and I need no more advice. I climb.

It's bloody hard, but miraculously, I reach the fifth branch from the ground in a matter of seconds. But, perhaps, it's due to the fact that, right now, I'm climbing for my life.

I sit down on the branch and look down. Sienna is still alone, a dagger in both hands and the other couple thrust into her belt. From my vantage point, I can see all; the small bluebird sitting in the tree opposite me, the family of rabbits feasting on grass behind a small copse of bushes…and the two tributes lying down in the brush only metres from my ally.

I freeze in the tree, wanting to release some sort of warning cry, but there's an odd obstruction in my throat, and I feel paralysed. I watch helplessly as the two boys creep up slowly, silently…

But not silently enough. Sienna hears them and, quick as a lashing whip, whirls to meet the larger of the two in combat. I can see their faces clearly now, and can recall them in great detail, for though my body is immobilised, my mind is working overtime.

The boy who Sienna's battling is the Career from Four, a bulky guy called Ryan who scored a ten in training. The other is a lankier, skinnier boy, my age or younger, whose name I can only just dredge up from memory; Jonathan. Said Jonathan is now sneaking up behind Sienna, but she obviously can't do anything to stop it, since she and this Ryan guy are neck in neck. I see him land a punch on the side of her face, a flowering purple bruise quickly forming, but only moments later, she slices through a broad bicep with one of her daggers, drawing blood. Four bares his teeth in pain, flicking his blonde hair from his eyes, and advances once more.

Jonathan is meanwhile ever closer. I have to do something, I realise. Sienna can't fight them both. And suddenly, like a miracle straight from God, the feeling rushes back to my limbs. I jerk my hands about, my eyes roaming the space around me, looking for something I can use… My gaze zeroes in on some acorns, hanging in a cluster right beside my head. _Perfect!_

I grab them all, resisting the urge to cackle evilly once they are in my grasp. Without even looking down to examine the scene below me, I let one acorn fly. It sails from my hand, headed straight for the scuffle, and bonks Eight on the shoulder. He pauses, startled, and glances up. When his eyes meet mine, I think I recognise the slightest flicker of fear in them, before he turns away and unsheathes a dagger from his jacket.

"Oi!" I snarl. I hurl a handful of the nuts down; they rain upon Eight's head and he flinches, lifting up his hands to save himself from the blows. I change my target, reeling back my good arm and then uncoiling it, letting several acorns zoom straight into the face of Four. He screams in pain as one of them pokes him in the eye; that's all the time Sienna needs to push him away hastily, turn and thrust her dagger into the stomach of Eight, who is only an inch away from impaling my friend on his own weapon. Jonathan gurgles, and Sienna kicks him away in disgust, leaving her dagger to protrude from his skinny chest. She turns quickly back to Four, who's recovered from his ambush of acorns, only to see him assaulted by more. I let out a whoop as another direct hit into the throat makes Ryan's head fling backwards. Sienna stares up at me.

"What the hell, Eulalie?" she shouts, drawing out one of the knives from her belt. "What are you doing?"

I respond without a moment's thought. "Improvising!" I scream, and hurl another round of the nuts down upon my enemies. Sadly, however, Four seems to have gotten used to the acorn assault; sneering up at me, he turns back to Sienna and pulls out a wicked blade from the dark recesses of his shirt. She and I gulp in unison, and I sit back on the branch, holding my breath. I look around for some more of my trusty missiles, but it seems I've stripped the tree from as many acorns as possible. There's none left around for me to use. I stifle a shout of annoyance.

Sienna and Ryan are locked in combat once again. His brute strength is looking just enough to overpower her; I almost can't bear to watch…until I shift my glance slightly and witness an insane event. Eight, whom was only just stabbed by Sienna and left to die…Eight has gotten to his feet, pulled the knife from the seeping wound in his chest and is now approaching Sienna with a single-minded determinedness that I have never seen before. I look desperately over at my ally, but she's so preoccupied with Ryan I doubt she's noticed a thing. There's only one course of action now…

I unzip the pack next to me, pull out the thinnest, longest wire I can find, take a deep breath, and drop to the ground.

The impact jars my limbs, but I stand shakily, pulling the wire taut between my hands. I take another deep breath. I can almost hear Lucah's voice in my head. _You can do this, Lillie. I can see you again, if you just do this._

Both Eight and Four haven't even registered my appearance on the ground. Neither, for that matter, has Sienna. I gulp again, and begin to walk forward, careful not to make the slightest sound. I'm only two paces from Jonathan now, just as he is only two paces from the expanse of Sienna's back, ready and open for someone to stab…

_No._ With that single word ringing in my mind, I unleash a throaty yell, and pounce on Jonathan, heaving my arms over his head and pulling the wire tight across his throat. I pull and pull and pull, the gurgle of Eight's final breaths sinking deep within my soul, etching themselves into my memory as something I know I'll never forget.

He stops twitching after a long moment, and his head lolls back onto my shoulder, a bloody smile cut into his throat from my garrotte. I stumble away, letting him fall to the ground, and throwing away from weapon as far as I can get it.

I look up through my fringe to see Four's shocked expression at his companion's untimely demise, and to also see him let down his guard for the tiniest fraction of a second; a fraction just long enough for Sienna to stab him through the heart. He drops like a stone, and suddenly it is only me and Sienna left, standing in a quiet clearing, our blood-covered hands the only signal as to our murderous hearts.

The cannon fires twice, and as if a button inside me is pushed, I stumble away from the fallen tributes and heave my guts out onto the grass. I retch again and again, bringing up both my blood and breakfast, until there is nothing left within me but a hollow emptiness.

I startle at the touch of a hand to my cheek, and I turn to meet Sienna's snapping eyes. "Come on," she says quietly. "Let's get you cleaned up." And she leads me onwards by the hand, like a little child, making me feel safe and warm and happy until I forget the death I have just wrought upon the world, the grievous act I have just committed. Until it is only me and her, walking and talking, for all the world a couple of friends whiling the day away.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Your Last Killing in the Arena Winning the Games**

I wake in a state of disorientation, unable to remember exactly where I am or what I'm doing here, lying beneath a blanket of leaves. Has Lucah been up to his tricks again? I wonder. Did I fall asleep in the garden at home?

And then it hits me.

I sit up so fast, the leaves covering me don't fall off immediately - they stick like glue to my clothes for a moment or two, before slowly detaching themselves and drifting towards the ground. Oh God, I think. The Games. Royal. Sienna.

I drop my head to examine my hands, to see if there are any traces on me that pertain to the murderer I am. There's nothing. My nails are rimmed with dirt, my palms scratched and sweaty, but all the blood and guts from Four and Eight's deaths were washed off last night, and it is now as if they had never been there, as if I had never killed Jonathan with my own two bare hands.

But I won't live a lie. I won't convince myself that it never happened, that I'm still pure and innocent, because I'm not. I want to know just what I've done; I want to remember the dying gurgles of my victims. It's the only way I will retain my humanity. Sienna may be fine with killing without a second thought, but I'm certainly not.

Speaking of Sienna, I look over to where her sleeping form is curled up above me. I recall last night only hazily, but it went something along the lines of this: we walked to a tree, I refused to climb it, Sienna covered me with leaves to disguise me, and she scaled the elm all by her lonesome, which I was totally fine with. By the looks of things now, she's still asleep.

I sigh, scrunching my hands up into fists, and try to dispel the gloom that has settled over me. It's all very well to think of saving my humanity, but it _is_ the Games, and that means I must be wary, must be watchful. Every. Minute. Of every. Day. And _that_ means I can't have my mind cluttered up with unnecessary philosophical musings about murder and finding one's inner self…

Right, I tell myself firmly. Shut up, Eulalie.

I stand. "Oi!" I say in a loud whisper. "Sienna? Anyone home? We need to go!"

There's a mumbling from the inanimate form huddled in the branches above me, and then Sienna turns over, her arm slipping from beneath her chest and coming to hang down towards me. Her head lolls forwards, and in the morning light I can see her still-closed eyes. I sigh again. This calls for immediate action.

A find a nice sized rock and heft it in my hand, testing its weight. I try to ignore the sense of déjà vu I feel at this, because thinking about yesterday and my acorn antics will only get me all blubbery and hiccuping and in an all round dreadful mess. "Oi!" I whisper again, hoping she wakes up at this, because I really don't want to find out her reaction to my Plan B. Sienna doesn't stir. I groan, bite my lip, and then hurl the rock, wincing as it clobbers my ally in the dangling arm.

Sienna sits up straight away, a dagger already in her fist, her eyes darting around wildly. "Down here!" I call, and she drops her head down to shoot me a murderous glare.

"What in the world was that for?" she whispers furiously, sheathing her dagger and unbuckling herself from the branch.

"You weren't waking up!" I say as she packs up her blanket into one of her two packs and drops to the ground. I flinch at her impact, but she is unperturbed.

"That's ridiculous," she sniffs, obviously trying to retain her dignity. Well, I've gotta hand it to her; she was just clobbered by a nice-sized boulder, but apparently is no less a party-pooper than before. "We need to get moving," she says quickly, and starts off in what I assume to be a northerly direction.

"I just said that!" I mutter under my breath, but make no further complaints. I just spin on my heel and stomp off after Sienna.

* * *

><p>It must be about midday when we meet our first female tribute (other than ourselves, of course) in the Games. One minute, we're munching on some berries Sienna deemed safe to eat and I'm slowly drawing my ally out of her shell, and the next moment, we hear a wild war cry and a pretty brunette girl bursts from the bushes, axe in hand. She can't have been following us for long, otherwise one of us would have noticed <em>something,<em> but I feel ashamed when I realise it was probably my incessant chatter over the past half hour that stopped Sienna from gleaning that we had a pursuer.

Sienna has unsheathed her dagger by now, and I back away slowly until my head hits the trunk of a tree behind me. I crouch down, swallowing my principles, preparing to burst from the shadows and save the day if things appear dire, which I'm assuming they will be. After all, even if Sienna got an eleven in training and has been killing since she was born - most likely, anyway - she is only holding a couple of flimsy daggers, while this girl - this _creep_, I correct, watching the way her eyes dart from side to side, sizing us and the area around us up - is wielding a bloody big battle axe. I'm pretty sure she's from District Nine, as I recall her score of eight from training and also her partner - Caleb, I think - who was the first to die in this arena. I realise with a jolt that Sienna was the one who killed Caleb, and now his ally - Marley, I remember triumphantly - is probably back for revenge.

The fight has gotten bloody. Sienna's cheek, already bruised from yesterday's brawl with Ryan from Four, now sports the unbecoming accessory of several scratches, running lengthways all the way from her eye to her chin. I wonder briefly what could have caused this, for surely the axe would have created a far less delicate wound, and come up with a quick and easy answer - fingernails. _The cat fight has officially begun_, I commentate in my head as Sienna lands a slicing blow in Nine's shoulder. She growls - just like a cat, I giggle mentally - and staggers backwards, clutching the wound. Her eyes narrow, the pupils zoning in dangerously on Sienna, and suddenly she pounces.

Well, slap me silly and call me Joe, I think. Because instead of striking Sienna bang in the chest, Marley from Nine suddenly finds herself without an axe in her hand. She stumbles, bewildered, and turns around to see Sienna twirling the weapon in her own hands nonchalantly. I expect some sort of cutting comeback line, but as usual, Sienna surprises me. She just jumps forward in perfect mockery of Marley's earlier leap of faith, and brains her opponent completely; sticking the axe into the girl's skull until only the handle is showing.

I suppose I should be celebrating, or hurling my guts out, or both. But instead, I feel frozen, and suddenly I'm not seeing the triumphant Sienna and dead Marley any more. It's like I'm stuck in some sort of time warp, for I find myself back at home, huddled on the floor of our living room, my back leaning against my father's legs. I'm watching the television, and suddenly I realise what this is. It's Xavier's Games, and I'm about to watch him die.

_Xavier turns, his eyes watchful and wary as he surveys the landscape around him. It's a desolate place, barren and full of rocks and cacti. He doesn't have a weapon - he didn't particularly want to risk the bloodbath at the Cornucopia yesterday, and besides, the only weapons available were those horrible spiked maces and double-bladed axes that he wanted no part in._

_A crackling sound to his left jerks his head around, and he curses himself. It's that Career from Two, what's-his-name… He's holding two of the dreaded weapons, and a malevolent grin is splashed across his lips. Xavier wonders how he didn't notice this great lump of a tribute sneak up behind him, but in his heart of hearts, he knows the answer. He was wishing he was back home so bad, he'd forgotten about the Games, about the risks, about everything except his family back in Three._

_The Career snarls, and quick as blinking, throws the axe in his right hand straight at Xavier. His aim is true, and Xavier falls instantly, the weapon embedded deep into his skull. He is still alive however, just, and his heaving chest is more painful than anything he's ever experienced._

"_You'll regret that," Xavier says, blood and spittle flying from his mouth, his limbs twitching manically. "One day, you'll-" And then he says no more, for the light has gone from his eyes, and suddenly Xavier Valentine-Cook is no more._

A hard slap across the face brings me back to the present. Sienna is shaking me, holding my shoulders, and my cheeks are damp, my own chest heaving in a horrible imitation of my brother's dying moment so many years ago. "Eulalie…" Sienna says. "Eulalie, snap out of it! What's wrong?"

I take a shuddering breath, trying to control my body. "Nothing," I murmur, pushing away from Sienna and standing upright, albeit slightly wobbly. "Just…a memory. That's all." I sniff deeply, trying to clear both my blocked sinuses and my morbid thoughts. "We should keep moving," I say, and stepping over Marley from Nine's prone form, I forge ahead, Sienna close behind.

* * *

><p>It's been dark for about an hour or so when Sienna calls for a halt. She looks around carefully, as if afraid we're the prey and someone - or something - is hunting us. And I'm half right.<p>

"There's something…close," she murmurs, listening carefully. "Not too close, but…close. Careers, by the looks of things."

I swallow. Today, we'd heard two cannon shots - other than Marley's - that had alerted us to the presence of people who were, in all likelihood, Careers from One and Two. "Alright," I say, my mouth dry. "Tree time again?" I hate it, but sometimes, it's necessary, especially when there are people akin to serial killers in close proximity.

Sienna nods, preparing to scale the nearest, biggest oak when an idea hits me. "You coming?" Sienna calls, halfway up.

"No…" I murmur. "No, Sienna. You…you go ahead. I'll keep watch."

Siena tries to protest, but I quash her misgivings and, in the end, she gives in, climbing up to her opportune branch and settling down into it. She's asleep - or dead, I suppose - within seconds. Huh, I think. Wish I could just conk out like that…

But I have work to do. I blink my sleepy eyelids furiously, shrugging my pack off my shoulders, unzipping it and rummaging through its contents. "Let's get this party started," I whisper through bared teeth, and I get to work.

* * *

><p>"Eulalie! Eulalie! Get up, you lump!"<p>

I snap my eyes open to find Sienna's face hovering inches from mine, her eyebrows scrunched up in worry and fear. I sit up hurriedly, my blanket of leaves falling from my clothes. Sienna makes to run, but I grab her ankle. "Stop!" I whisper. "Do you want to die, or not?" Sienna looks at me in confusion. I sigh, getting to my feet. "Follow me - and _carefully_!"

I tiptoe across the ground for about ten metres, making careful to put as little pressure on my feet as possible. I pause. "When I say jump, Sienna, you jump, okay?" I feel her nod behind me, and I spring from the ground, putting as much effort in as I can to soar as far as possible. I wobble slightly on landing, but regain my balance. "Exactly as I did, okay? Jump…now!" Sienna jumps, easily clearing the distance and landing perfectly. I roll my eyes, then turn and lead her through a circuitous route of hops, skips and more jumps. To Sienna's credit, she doesn't ask any questions.

Once we've cleared the maze, I stop. "Righto, then. Let's enjoy the show!" Sienna stares at me as if I'm mad. "Didn't you realise what all that was?" I say. "I was very busy last night; let me tell you that…" I trail off as footsteps come pounding towards us. Sienna turns to me, angry and horrified and confused all at once, but I pat her once on the head and shrug. "Watch," I say.

It's only seconds before the Careers come into view. Four of them, I count, both boy and girl from both One and Two. Ontario, the tribute from Two with a face like a squished boulder, gives me a grin. "You're dead!" he calls across the distance that separates us, less than one hundred metres. His partner gives a wild laugh. It takes me a moment to place her, but when I do, it clicks. Her name's Troian, she gained a nine in training, and she's the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my life. Her hair's a pale gold and waving down her back, and her eyes are bright sapphires against her snowy skin. The expression she's pulling - a mean twist of the lips, a raising of one eyebrow - should make her slightly less beautiful, but all it does is personifies her volatility. I remember that she's very dangerous, and maybe-most-likely-definitely wants to kill me.

"Um…Eulalie?" Sienna whispers beside me. "Shouldn't we run?" I gesture at her to wait, and I watch with baited breath as our enemies begin to run towards us…any moment now…

And in the blink of an eye, it happens. One moment Troian is pulling ahead of her allies, unsheathing her blade and grinning wickedly, and the next, her head is sliced clean off her neck and is hitting the ground with a dull_ thump_. Her body quickly follows, crumpling like an old sock puppet. Her companions jerk to a halt, watching with horror as the tripwire Troian so unfortunately activated becomes visible. The cannon fires, and Ontario howls. "I'll get you, Three!" he yells, and I'm rather shocked to see tears beginning to form in his eyes. Obviously, Troian meant a lot to him.

"Righto, Sienna," I say under my breath. "Now would be a good time to run, I think." She nods, and we run.

We pound through the forest for about an hour before my ally slows down and tells me to do the same. She gives me a strange look. "What was that?" she asks.

"Tripwire," I say back, not about to sacrifice my humanity enough to grin and laugh about killing another human being. "I was up all night working on 'em. The Careers'll have a hard time getting through, though I won't count on any of the rest of them dying."

Sienna nods slowly. "That was…brilliant. I underestimated you."

I shrug. "It happens, babe. Now, who's up for some breakfast?"

* * *

><p>The next day dawns bright and clear. Nothing of any consequence happened, really, yesterday, so we'd decided to call it an early night. I was glad; my previous escapade with the traps and snares had deprived me of a good rest. And so it is when I open my eyes, they're still heavy with sleep and struggling to stay open. I wriggle into a sitting position, shading my eyes against the sun. Sienna's awake, and obviously taking stock; she's pacing up and down the small clearing we settled in.<p>

"Ants in your pants?" I say, standing up and stretching. She jumps at the sound of my voice, but gives a small smile and shrug. Well, I think. There's hope for her yet!

We get moving quickly that morning, stopping only for a quick snack. Sienna's unusually quiet, and I want to ask her what's wrong, but I have a feeling the question wouldn't go down at all well.

We walk for a couple of hours, winding this way and that through the towering trees around us. We hear a cannon fire, but when the helicopter comes to retrieve the body, it's far enough away to let us stay relaxed. We don't know if the death was made by a Career, or just a random tribute, a dark horse in the competition desperate to prove themselves. To be honest, I don't really want to know.

After a hasty lunch accompanied by a quick 'call of nature' stop, we hear something. Well, more like smell something - smoke. Someone's lit a fire close by, and with the possibility that it could be an enemy, Sienna and I unsheathe our weapons (mine being the smallest dagger I could find in Sienna's pack) and continue quietly, barely making any noise on the dry, crackly bed of leaves beneath us. For once in my life, I'm thankful my mother signed me up for dancing lessons before she died, for without them, I surely would've sounded like a bumbling ox trying to work my way through a pile of ceramic plates.

Sienna holds up a hand, gesturing for me to stand still. I teeter on my tiptoes, then roll backwards onto the balls of my feet, finding a better purchase in the ground. I glance at my ally, and she looks at me, her gaze quizzical. I understand the question in her face; _do we kill them?_

"Wait and see," I whisper, and step out in front of Sienna, through the last thicket of bush separating us from the unknown quantity. It takes me a moment for us to find our quarry, but when we do, I can't help but grin. "Tallulah?" I try, and the girl sitting down before me nods happily.

"Eulalie, right?" she asks. "Thank goodness you're here, you know! I saw you in the training centre when you were at the edible plants station, and God, you have no idea how much I wanted to join you, but Michael made me stay with him, and so I've had _no_ idea what to eat this past week! I swear I could've died five times over! Oh, and don't worry - I saw you killing Michael, but he was a pain anyway, and it was inevitable! He was never going to win! I still can't believe it's you, and- oh goodness, is that Sienna Whishaw? Gosh, you have no idea how happy I am to see the both of you right now, let me tell you that!" When she finishes speaking, Tallulah isn't even out of breath. I must admit, I'm impressed.

"Yeah, sorry about that…happy to hear Michael was a pain, though," I say, forcing myself to give a smile, though to hear death and murder bandied about in such a way makes me feel sick to my stomach, especially when I was the one who did the 'killing' part. "I'm sure you could stick with us from now on, though…Sienna?"

My ally steps out of the shadows, eyeing Tallulah warily. She walks straight up to the girl, who stands and holds out her hand to shake, her face brimming with happiness. I feel a sense of accomplishment inside of me, now, to know that we've probably saved this girl from a horrible death… But something's wrong. Sienna's not smiling, which isn't too unusual, I suppose, but her snapping eyes have an awful glint to them, like corrugated steel, and instead of shaking Tallulah's hand, Sienna stretches out her own arm, grasps the girl by the neck, twists, then lets her fall to the ground.

The cannon fires.

I can't fathom what I'm seeing. Tallulah from Six, such a beautiful, bubbly eighteen-year-old, is lying on the ground, stone dead, her big brown eyes no longer seeing the terrible, bloody world we're all living in. _And she didn't just die, did she?_ A little voice inside my head tells me. _She was murdered, murdered by the girl whom you call _friend…

An unspeakable rage builds up inside of me. I've never felt so angry in my life. It's as if someone has taken all the nasty things that make up our world, that make up Panem, and has condensed them into an awful anger elixir which I have then swallowed without a second thought. The rage consumes me, making my vision turn red, and the only time I've ever felt like this before is when Alistair killed Royal, killed that poor little boy. My chest is heaving, and I'm certain I'm crying, but I don't care. Because what Sienna's just done is an act of evil, something so terrible I almost can't express my shock and fury and confusion in words - almost.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yell, and I don't care if anyone hears me, if the Careers find us. I just want answers. "Are you insane? Psycho? Do you even know what you just did?"

Sienna eyes me calmly, as if killing unarmed teenage girls is a daily occurrence for her. "Of course I do. I killed the enemy, just like I did before. Just like you've done, too, Eulalie."

"Just like I've done? Have you lost your mind? I've killed people, Sienna, who would've killed me. Or you. Or Royal…not just any old person who happens to cross my path!"

"I don't see how it's any different."

"How-" For a moment, I can't speak. I can't find the word to express my horror at her, at what she's saying, at what she's done. "Of course it's different, Sienna." I drop my voice to a whisper. "It's different because that girl there was kind, was caring-"

"What does that all matter if she won't win, then, Eulalie?" The deadly serenity in Sienna's voice incenses me even further.

"It matters because we're all human beings, Sienna. We all work the same way. Sure, if someone's holding an axe to your head, or a knife to your heart- sure, kill 'em. Go right ahead." I take a deep breath. "But if someone is standing before you, smiling and offering you the hand of friendship, you take it, Sienna. You take their gratitude, their grin. You don't just kill them, then and there. They have a life. They have friends, family, people at home who, right now, are probably cursing you into oblivion. Because she did not deserve to die, Sienna. Tallulah was a girl who would never hurt a fly, and you snapped her neck like it was of no consequence whatsoever. I wonder how you can remain so normal, so…_human_, because what you've just done is utterly the opposite."

"I did what I had to do." Sienna's snapping eyes are hardening again, steeling themselves. "Do you want to win these Games or not, Eulalie?"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Is that what's it's about to you? Winning? You're joking, right?" Sienna doesn't respond. "These Games are so much more than that, Sienna. You have no idea, do you? I don't care about winning, about killing everyone off so I can get home. Survival is _not_ my top priority here. I'm here to- to care, Sienna. To watch over. To know what is right and what is wrong, and what you've just done is way beyond the latter. Sure, I wanna go home. See my dad, Sean, Lucah-" My voice cracks on the last name, and I swallow, blinking back tears. "But I'm not about to kill anyone who crosses my path to do that. It's just not right. It's _inhumane_, and I'll speak for myself when I say that I'd like to keep my humanity, thank you very much. Not throw it away at the drop of a hat."

"Sometimes you don't have a choice. I had to kill her, or she would've turned on us sooner or later. I couldn't risk that." Sienna nods, agreeing with herself.

"You still don't get it, do you? Not everyone has death on their minds, Sienna. A lot of us just want to make allies, just want to get through this hellhole. We're not all lunatics, madwomen, who'll kill you as soon as we look at you. Tallulah just wanted help, Sienna." I sniff deeply. "She wanted help to escape this pit of filth, this basin of immorality. She wanted to get home, yes, but she wasn't about to murder you to do that."

"It's part of the Games, Eulalie. Kill or be killed, remember? I just did to her what I would've done to anyone else."

I blink, a questioning of Sienna's motives rising to the forefront of my mind. "Oh yeah?" I murmur, my brain working overtime. "If you did that to her, then why didn't you do it to me?"

Sienna's mouth opens and closes like a fish. I feel a vindictive pleasure at her helplessness, at her inability to form a coherent answer because I've stumped her, hit her in the place where it hurts - and hard. "You're different," she finally croaks out, breaking eye contact with me and looking to the ground.

"I am not," I say mildly. "I'm just as base as the rest of you. I was made the same way; I've lived like everyone else. There is no difference between her," at this, I point to Tallulah, "and me. Except for the fact that, right now, she's dead and I'm not. But that'll probably change soon. You and I both know I have no chance in hell at surviving this."

Sienna gives a jerky nod. "Alright…come on, then." I stare. "What?" she says. "We need to get moving before the hovercraft comes."

I shake my head, a smile of incredulity unfurling across my face. "Don't you understand?" I say softly. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I can't live with someone who thinks they have the right to give and take life. It's against my principles. So if you'll excuse me, I'll go this way, and you'll go that way."

Sienna just stares.

"If you'll remember, you wanted to split up towards the end of the Games anyway. Now's as good a time as ever, don't you think?"

I turn my back on Sienna, choking back the tears that have risen to the surface. It's for the best, I tell myself, though I feel a sense of foreboding that the next time I see Sienna - if there is a next time - it will be in a far more grave situation, with far more at stake. I hear Sienna turn also, and the telltale crunching of leaves that alerts me to the fact she's departing. "May the odds be ever in your favour," I whisper under my breath, and though it seems impossible, I'm sure she heard me.

I don't turn around until I've reached the shadows, and when I do, there's no-one there. Sienna Whishaw is now naught but a ghost.

* * *

><p>A day passes. Then three. It's a whole week before I hear the next cannon fire. By then, I'm almost at the edge of the forest again, as I was heading in the opposite direction to what Sienna and I had begun originally. Sienna…I shake that thought out of my head. She's too smart to die, I tell myself. She's still around, that I'm sure of.<p>

Through the wall of trees, I can see the Cornucopia. God, whatever made me come back to this place? The sun shines on the golden horn, illuminating it so brightly I'm blinded by the intensity. I decide to make camp a little further back in the trees, just enough so I'm sure I'm not visible from outside the forest.

I'm sizing up a tree, wondering if I should climb it, when I hear two more cannon shots, almost simultaneously. I freeze. Three deaths in ten or so minutes…something's gotta be up.

I make a quick decision. Climbing the elm would have its advantages, but it would also limit my manoeuvrability and I don't particularly want to risk another hole in my arm. Speaking of that…I glance down at the bandage covering the wound. I'd been too scared to peel it off before, but now seems like a good time as ever. The blood has seeped through to the top layer, and the bandage itself has a greenish tint, which I'm sure can't be good. That, coupled with the fact that over the past few days the pain has spiked to an all new level leads me to believe my arm probably isn't in too good a condition.

I settle down into a nice sized hollow, drawing a sheet of bark that lies oh-so-conveniently next to me over it, and then begin to undo the gauze. Before I'm even halfway done I can tell it's bad. I grit my teeth against the pain, determined to persevere, and when the last layer falls off, the bandage fluttering to the ground, I breathe a sigh of relief.

And then I chance a look at the wound.

It's hideous. The hole is still there - _hey look, my foot!_ - but now it's rimmed with browns and purples and greens, the beginnings of an awful infected bruise. I tear my eyes away from the sight, swallowing down the bile that's immediately risen up my throat.

I wish I had heard the slow sounds of someone sneaking up on me. I wish I hadn't been so consumed by the pain that I had noticed the crackle of branches underfoot as someone approached. But I didn't. And so it's with a jump of surprise that the bark ceiling is ripped off my hidey-hole and I'm dragged out into the fresh air by my hair. I screech, hitting out with my good arm, but I make no impact. A low guttural laugh seizes me with fear, and I swivel my head slowly to find myself face-to-face, eye-to-eye with the ugly brute, Ontario from Two.

"I told you I'd get you," he grins, and I scream. I don't think I've ever screamed louder in my life; and what I'm screaming for, I have no idea, because I know that I'm dead either way. Ontario releases me and I fall to the ground, hitting a protruding rock face first and splitting my lip on its sharp point. I spit out the blood accumulating in my mouth and stagger to my feet, my wounded arm hanging limply by my side.

Ontario is wielding a sword - an honest to goodness _sword_ - and though it looks heavier than me, he swings it with ease. He wastes no time with small talk, instead rushing forward and striking. I dodge the first blow, but the blade cuts through my clothes, leaving a big rip up the side of my shirt and reducing my already battered jacket to shreds. I shiver. Ontario eyes me hungrily.

The next swing he takes, I'm not so lucky. It misses my throat by an inch, but falls slightly to the left and suddenly my arm is on fire. I swallow my fear and look down. I promptly throw up.

My severed forearm is lying on the ground, slowly pooling blood as more of the red liquid slides down my leg. Oh God oh God oh God, I think. I've never felt pain like this, never known what it is to feel like your whole body is on fire, like you're about to die but you can't, because it hurts so much, just too goddamn much-

A fierce war cry slices through the pain, and through the haze of _shit-shit-shit-fuck-shit-it-hurts _I see a dark head of hair coming my way. Beneath its fringe, I spot a pair of snapping eyes, and in its hands are two glinting daggers. I try to smile, but instead I scream.

I don't see much of what happens during the fight, just hear exclamations here and there and the wet sound of metal against flesh. I feel a hand on my arm, and I jerk upwards, but the hand is softer than I could have imagined, and instead of bad breath and a face like a brick, I'm greeted by a warm smile and corrugated iron glinting eyes.

Sienna.

Words bubble up to my lips, along with a nice amount of blood, but Sienna places her finger on my mouth and tells me to hush. I nod jerkily, splashing blood onto her face, but she just wipes it off without comment.

"Hush, Eulalie. It's okay…it's alright…" She strokes my hair like I'm a child and she's my mother and, strangely, I'm okay with it.

It seems like we spend forever just sitting there, smiling into each other's faces, but then I realise something. Even though I'm blinded by pain and not entirely in my right state of mind, I'm not deaf, and unless I'm much mistaken, the cannon hasn't fired for Ontario, which means…

My blood runs cold.

"Si- si-" I try to warn her, but Sienna shushes me again, not noticing my distress. I crane my neck to see over her shoulder, and-

"Look out!" I splutter, but it's too late. Sienna makes a grunting sound, and we both look down at her chest to see the sword sticking straight out of it, running right through her heart. I blubber, grab one of Sienna's daggers from where she dropped it, and throw it. It hits Ontario square in the brow, and he falls backwards.

The cannon fires.

Sienna is shaking, her limbs twitching uncontrollably, her eyes rolling. I struggle into a sitting position, the edges of my world blurry due to blood loss, and I slowly push the sword out of my friend. I'm holding the sharp end, and it cuts through my fingers, but I don't care, I keep going, because I can't bear my best friend to be skewered like a pig on a spit roast. After what seems like forever, the sword falls free, and clatters to the ground. Sienna tumbles sideways, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"No, no, no, no…" I mumble, grabbing hold of Sienna's shoulders and shaking them. Her eyes focus.

"Hey," she smiles sadly. "My- my pack."

I just stare, and she shakes her head insistently, clenching her eyes closed tight. "Gauze…pack."

I pull the bag of my back with my good arm and unzip it slowly, making small whimpering noises as the movement aggravates my wound and as my ally slowly dies. Inside it is a medicine kit. I grab that out and rip it open with my teeth. Inside are some empty bottles and one bandage. _One bandage._ I realise what that means.

I look to Sienna, and she gives me a small smile, her eyelids having a spasm attack. "Take- take it," she rasps. I shake my head. "Take it, or- or I'll k- kill you." I shake my head again. "G- Goddamn it, Lil- Lillie. T- Take it!" I can't ignore her, not when she's looking at me with withering eyes. I take out the bandage gingerly, ripping of the plastic packaging and shaking it out to its full length. I examine it. There's not enough here for the both of us. There's barely enough for one person, as it is. Sienna nods shakily.

I wrap my stump of an arm with the gauze. I can hardly see what I'm doing, but it hurts a lot, which means something must be going right. Tears are streaming down my face and I'm finding it hard to breathe, but when I finish the bandage with a messy knot, I feel a swooping sensation in my gut that I realise is relief.

I lie back beside Sienna, guilt sticking to me just like the gauze. I want to say something, but I'm afraid of breaking the bubble of tranquillity that has been resting over us since I used her bandage. Sienna reaches out and takes my remaining hand, squeezing it feebly. It is she who speaks first.

"T- Tell me about Luc- Lucah."

I blink in surprise, but don't protest. "He's my best friend," I say quietly, a laugh bubbling up inside of me. "I- I think-" I stop, wondering whether I should continue. Oh, hell with it! "I think I- I love h- him." I let out a giggle, and even though when I do it feels like an iron band is tightening around my heart, pressing the life from me, I can't stop. After a moment, Sienna joins in, shaking and laughing and spluttering blood. It must be a gruesome sight.

"What 'bout you?" I ask. "Anyone spesh- special?"

"Eli," she says without hesitation.

"He sounds…mysterious." I break into another fit of giggles, rolling onto my good side and leaning comfortably against Sienna. I can feel the weak rise and fall of her chest as she laughs too.

"He is," she says, and we both laugh even harder. I suppose that's the thing about dying; it makes every other problem seem insignificant, no more than an itch on your foot.

We sink into silence, but I'm desperately looking for something to say, because silence means sleep, and sleep means death. "Do- do you wanna hear a story?" The blood build up in my mouth is making me lisp. Sienna trembles, which I take to be a yes.

"O- Once upon a t- time, there lived a p- princess. Okay?"

Sienna's voice is small. "Okay."

"Sh- she was so ugly, that no- no-one wanted to m- marry her. Okay?"

"Okay." Barely a whisper, now.

"So she w- went to a witch and asked for a sp- spell to make her b- beautiful. Okay?"

"Yes."

"B- But the witch refused, telling the princess th- that one day, a hand- handsome prince would come along and w- want to marry her despite her ug- ugly, ugly, ugly f- face. Al- alright?"

"Okay."

"The p- princess went home, distraught, and cl- climbed up a t- tree to sort out her f- feelings. Eventually, someone w- went looking for her, and it w- was her best friend, M- Minnie. Okay?"

Silence.

"Sienna?"

Silence.

I wriggle to a sitting position, ignoring the pain in my arm because there is something a whole lot more serious going down. "Sienna?" I whisper, shaking her. Her eyes are closed. "Sienna!"

The cannon fires.

"No…" No, this can't be happening. "Sienna!" My voice is a screech, sounding terrible to even my own ears. I scream again, falling forward against Sienna's chest, clutching her tight to me. "No, no, please! Please, God, no!" The tears are coming, they're falling thick and fast, and they're clogging up my airways so I can't breathe. And I don't want to breathe. I want to stop breathing, I want to die, because surely life beyond is far less painful than here, than now, on Panem, crying and screaming over the dead body of a friend. Of a tribute. Of a murderer. Of Sienna Whishaw, bravest of the brave.

Claudius Templesmith announces over the loudspeaker my victory. I don't care. I don't want victory, I don't want anything on this earth, I just want to be held by Sienna one more time, my hair stroked, sharing a joke that she doesn't understand but smiles at anyway-

I can barely hear the hovercraft's blades chopping overhead. A ladder falls down beside me, in the corner of my eye, but the tears are blurring my vision and I wouldn't be able to find my way to it even if I wanted to try. I look down at Sienna's still face, so beautiful in death, and try to wipe the blood splatters from it that have fallen from my mouth, but all I do is smudge them until her skin is red, red as strawberries, red as fire, red as anger, red as death.

A hand grasps me from behind, strong arms encircle me and suddenly I'm being lifted of the ground by a nameless, faceless Capitol citizen, being taken away from the only person I feel safe with here. I scream, I wriggle, I bang my fists, but nothing will stop my captor, and when they guide me to the ladder, I am frozen the moment I touch the rungs. My eyes dart in my sockets so wildly they begin to ache and weep something that I'm pretty sure isn't tears.

The hovercraft retracts the ladder, and it takes only moments for me to reach to vehicle, where I'm pulled off the ladder gently. _Big mistake._ I claw at the doctors surrounding me, spit at them, kick out at the people trying to subdue me. They want a Hunger Games? Well, they sure as hell are getting one.

One of the doctors advances on me, syringe in hand. I snarl and leap forward, but he sidesteps and then jerks his hand upwards, embedding the needle into my shoulder. I hiss is pain, and then the world goes black.

* * *

><p>I'm surrounded by white. My first thought is heaven. But no, that's wrong, because I'm pretty sure heaven's made up of clouds, and instead I'm in an empty white room, sitting on a rigid white chair, facing a shining white door.<p>

I'm intrigued.

The handle turns, slowly, so slowly, and the door opens just enough to let a tall, dark haired girl through. Sienna. She turns to me and walks forward, dropping to her knees and taking my hand.

I'm speechless, not only because of Sienna, but because of what she's wearing. A white dress, white shoes and white leather jacket. I look down at myself- and yelp. Same as Sienna. I look terrible.

"What are you doing here?" I say, and when she squeezes my hand its only then I realise both my arms are intact. "What…?" I say again, searching my friend's face for clues.

"I'm sorry," she finally says, eyelashes fluttering in an invisible breeze.

"For what?" I'm afraid of her answer.

"Everything, Eulalie. You deserved so much better…you still do." I blink. She sighs. "You'll see…soon. I'm so sorry. I wish there was something more I could do."

She presses something small and cold into the palm of my hand. It's a ring.

"This was my tribute token," Sienna says with a small smile. "You'll know what to do with it when the time comes." She stands, smoothing out the creases in her skirt. "I have to go."

"What? Sienna-"

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I have no choice. But I'll be seeing you soon, you can count on that."

"Sienna-"

She's at the door, her fingertips on the handle. She turns. "Say goodbye to Eli for me," she smiles, her eyes no longer corrugated iron but as soft and smooth as stained glass. She opens the door. "I love you, Eulalie. You deserved to win, so, so much. Enjoy your life." She gives me one last grin, before stepping outside of the room.

The door clicks closed behind her.

* * *

><p>I awake, strapped to a table in a white room. For a moment I think I'm back with Sienna, wherever <em>that <em>was, but then I see the machines and charts surrounding me, and I know it's a futile hope.

I'm looking to the side, hoping to see a fellow human being who could help explain things for me, when I see it. My arm, my hand, my fingers. All of a shining silver metal.

I jerk my hand. The metal jerks with me. I give myself the thumbs up. The metal does too. _I'm sorry,_ Sienna said. _You deserved better…_ Oh God, I think. I'm a bloody robot.

I blink back the tears that have risen to the surface. I seem to have been crying a lot lately, but evidently, I still have some sobs left in my reservoir of sorrow. I struggle against the bonds that hold me down, and it's then when I feel it. Something hard and small and cold in the palm of my fleshy hand. I lift my head up as far as the straps will allow, and open my fist. A ring of gold, with a green gemstone set in the centre.

Sienna.

So it wasn't a dream, I think…_or was it?_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry for the super long wait! *Goes and hides in a deep, dark cave.* Hope you enjoyed; only one more part to go!


	3. Part III

_**Sixty Seven**_

**Part III**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Reunion Show and Victory Banquet<strong>

The lights blaze down on me as I walk onto the stage. I've been here before, mere weeks ago, but it seems like a whole lifetime has passed. Everything's different now; I'm the only tribute left. It feels wrong, like I'm violating about fifty thousand rules just standing here, but the way the crowd is screaming and cheering my name below, I know what I'm doing is right. I just wish I wasn't alone.

Caesar beckons me over, a taloned hand extended. His scarlet mane and skin is sickeningly reminiscent of blood, and it makes my stomach churn. I teeter over on my tiptoes, booted feet tap-tap-tapping against the marble stage. My metal hand is hidden behind my back, feeling disconcertingly real as I clench it into an anxious fist. I don't know why I'm hiding it; it's not as if it's a secret. Everyone here and back home probably knows about it already. But something is holding me back from waving it openly, from flaunting my battle scar. It would feel wrong to do so; somehow, as if I were rubbing the deaths of all the other tributes in Panem's face.

I reach the couch Caesar is patting invitingly. I sit, swallowing heavily as I realise that the red of my skirt matches his skin exactly. _Matches the colour of blood. _Oh, God.

I register hazily that he's speaking to me, asking me something. I tune back into the present, trying to ignore the buzzing sound in my ears. I wonder where it came from.

"…and we all know how desperately you tried to save him, but you couldn't. Do you think you broke your promise?" Flickerman smiles at me, his teeth glistening in the heavy lighting. To me, his incisors seem almost pointed, like he's about to leap towards me, fangs outstretched, ready to bite…

I blink, and suddenly Caesar's smile…is just Caesar's smile. No fangs. No creepy movements. I shake my head slightly. _Am I going mad?_

"Uh…sorry?" I ask. "What was the question?" Caesar frowns, saying, "Royal, of course. Do you feel like you've broken your promise to him?"

Royal. I close my eyes for a moment, remembering the way his dark curls bounced as he laughed, his smiling eyes, his shocked expression as he hit the target in archery training…and his terrified face, frozen in death, as he crumpled to the ground with an axe in his back…

"No!" I whispered, wrenching my eyes open, the images dissipating as quickly as they came. I have the death wobbles in my legs, and I watch them for a long moment, shaking and jittering and having spasms against my will. I take a deep breath. "Yes," I say. "Yes, I broke my promise." I shift my head upwards, ignoring Caesar beside me, instead focusing on the crowd. "Yes, I promised him he'd be Victor! Yes, I watched him die! Yes, yes, yes!" I'm yelling now, breast heaving, tears threatening to flow. I blink them back. "God, yes," I murmur, chin falling back down to rest on my chest. "I failed him. I watched him die. He's dead. Oh, God."

There's a light pressure on my arm; Caesar's hand. I suppose it's meant to be comforting, but his fingernails are digging into my forearm flesh, making the gesture anything but. "It's over, Eulalie," he says kindly. "It's okay to cry now."

"No!" I shake off his arm and sniff deeply, suddenly angry. I don't know why. "I'm fine," I spit tersely. Caesar nods as if he understands perfectly. "Of course you are. Now, about this arm…?"

The interview seems to last forever. Caesar covers all the basics from the Games, and I find it easiest to just smile blankly and nod in agreement. It seems to keep everyone happy, and the last thing I want to do is actually _think_ about the Games. I just want to put them out of my mind, at least for now.

Halfway through Caesar's dramatic description of my tripwire trap that decapitated Troian, I think inexplicably of Sienna. My metal hand moves slightly to cover my flesh-and-blood one, my index finger caressing the green and gold ring on my thumb. I don't know how I ended up with it, because I sure as hell don't believe in ghosts, or premonitions, or the dead coming back to haunt us. But still…there is no other explanation as to how I came to be holding the ring other than something exceedingly supernatural, and so now I'm not sure what I think…what I'm _supposed_ to think. I glance down at the ring, reminded of Sienna. I just wish she was here, that I could see her again, talk to her, if only for a moment…

And, just like that, something in my peripheral vision catches my eye. I swivel slightly, and see a familiar mane of dark hair framing a pale face and snapping green eyes. Sienna. _What?_

She's watching me, and smiles as our gazes meet. She doesn't look like a ghost; in fact, she's shockingly substantial, just as if she never died. She raises her hand in a cheeky greeting, but when I blink to refocus…she's gone.

_I've gone round the bend_, I think, horrified. I blink several times, but Sienna doesn't reappear. I turn back towards Caesar and the crowd, but they haven't noticed anything amiss. He's still chattering away, and I nod blithely, my mind desperately ticking overtime. _I don't understand this…_

"…and now, the montage!" I tune back in just in time to see the big screens that were once black flickering to life. And then the show begins.

This year, it seems the Gamemakers have gone for a different angle other than romance or viciousness or just run-of-the-mill death; they've focused, instead, almost entirely on me. My daring promise to save Royal - I notice they've condensed my speech, making it less rebellious - and the fact that I failed him; my narrow scrapes with death, including when I fell from that _fucking _tree - I look away as the stick impales my arm onscreen, and I hear the crowd gasp in pity; my ruthless killings of other tributes - again I look away, bile rising in my throat; and my alliance with Sienna, ending with the dramatic finish of my horrified screams as I realised that she was dead. The film cuts off before the bit where I refused to board the hovercraft, and I wonder why. Are they afraid it's too much a show of defiance? That they don't want to give the Districts ideas?

The montage lasts three-and-a-half hours. I'm impressed at the way they managed to condense weeks of bloodthirsty fighting into 210 minutes, but then again, with the focus mainly on me, I suppose it wasn't that hard.

At the show's end, the crowd cheers, deafening me with their screams of joy. It's sick.

I look over my shoulder to where President Snow has appeared. His smile is wide, but to me it looks forced, and he has a firm grip on the shoulder of the little girl beside him who carries the crown. _The crown…_ It's beautiful. Gold and silver entwined, it's more a tiara than anything else, like something a princess would wear. Little metallic leaves dot the wire circle, and small coloured gemstones practically drip off of it. Something like this would feed the entirety of District Three for a whole year.

Snow approaches me, lifting the crown off of its velvet cushion. I stand at a sign made from Caesar, and Snow leans forward to place the crown atop my head. It's the heaviest thing I've ever felt, weighing me down, and suddenly I feel an insane urge to rip it off and stomp on it, smashing the precious metal to smithereens. In fact, I'm about to reach up and do just that, when my gaze finds Dimitri's face in the audience. He's nicely spruced up, grey-flecked hair perfectly gelled, but the expression on his face is stiff, and he's shaking his head. He knows exactly what I want to do, and he's telling me _no_. I drop my hands to my side again, and the crowd roars.

I'm following the rules, I'm doing what's right, but to me, it all feels wrong.

* * *

><p>The banquet is loud and joyful and full of Capitol citizens telling me how fantastic I was in the arena. I hate it. The food tastes bland in my mouth, like ashes and dust, and wherever I go, it seems like I see the other tributes everywhere. Troian from Two is by the punch bowl, pouring herself a glass. She flips me the bird, and then she's gone. Royal, dear, darling Royal is sitting by the door, playing a hand-clapping game with his murderer, Alistair from Seven. They turn simultaneously and stare at me, their eyes like flames. I back away and flee from the sight.<p>

And Sienna. She's everywhere I look. Standing on the buffet table, performing an odd sort of jig (I'm sure that's my imagination). Shaking hands with previous Victors. Scarfing down hunks of meat straight from the bone. Creeping up behind me, tapping on my shoulder, but vanishing when I turn around to investigate. The whole thing is absolute torture. I just want the night to end. I just want to go home.

The night ends well past dawn. I stumble into my Capitol room, throwing off my dress and tossing the crown into the deepest, darkest depths of the wardrobe. I can just find enough energy to turn down the sheets before crawling into them and sinking into a deep sleep, tears drying against my cheeks with a prickle of pain.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Returning Home from the Capitol<strong>

I barely even register the journey home. I'm stuck in a daze of weirdness, unable to distinguish between dreams - well, nightmares - and reality. I'm still seeing Sienna. She's sitting by my bed when I wake, or hiding beneath the table when we're eating. Don't ask me why. It freaks me out, seeing dead people like this. It disturbs me, twists my brain around until I don't know which way is up or what way is right.

I think I'm going mad.

Anyway. The train is slowing down, now; I can feel the engines purring, ready to coast to a stop. The windows have become my new best friend: my hands are glued to their crystal clear glass, my eyes fixed on what lies beyond.

The District's fence comes into view, and I almost scream with excitement. I never thought I'd see that ugly, barbed wire again. I'm smiling, now, but then I remember Royal, his face as he laid dying, and my grin slides off my face. Who am I to deserve a homecoming, while his body lies decaying in the ground? The answer is no-one. I am nobody. I deserve nothing.

And yet the train keeps moving, slipping in through the gates, pulling up at the station. I can see a gathered crowd outside, and suddenly there's a sick feeling in my stomach. I walk slowly to the front doors, each step weighing a million tonnes, like a death march.

Then someone clears their throat beside me.

I turn, expecting Dimitri, or even Karin, bitch as she may be, to be there and give me some heartfelt advice. Instead, I find myself staring into the snapping eyes of Sienna.

Oh, fuck. Not again.

Her amused expression makes me realise I just said that out loud. It seems I still have the decency to blush. "Manners, Lillie," she grins at me. Her dark hair is tightly wound, pulled back against her scalp. My vision blurs for a moment, and I think I can see the bones of her skull shining through her skin. Then I blink, and Sienna is human again. Well, as near to human as one can be when dead, anyway.

The train grinds to a halt. I glance for a split second at the doors, which are vibrating, ready to open, and when I look back to Sienna, she's gone.

"Fuck," I repeat.

The doors slide ajar before me, and I'm greeted by hundreds of people, screaming my name. It's enough to make me want to swoon. I search the crowd for familiar faces; there's Polka, and Glenda, and Ameleia, and Ash. Ugh. I always hated him.

And there, smack bang in front of me, are the people I missed so much in the Capitol the pain made my heart tear almost in two. There's Dad, looking lost as ever when he's out of the house. Sean, my beautiful brother, is standing beside him, in his arms an orange fur ball with bow legs and a squashed face: Fatso. He's even rounder than when I left!

And then…and then…

_Lucah._

His mere name makes my heart go into palpitations now. He looks the same as ever: that mop of rugged blonde curls; those delicious blue eyes; and his sturdy, strong arms, ready to wrap around me. I know I'm supposed to smile and wave, to please the crowd, but seeing Lucah there, right in front of me, is just too much. I stagger off the platform, stumbling, and then he is there, holding me, kissing my hair and my forehead and the tip of my nose and, finally, finally, my lips.

He tastes like machine oil and grease and melted chocolate. Like perfection.

I feel more than see or hear the cameras being snapped, photos being taken, but I couldn't care less. Because now my brother and my father have joined Lucah and my embrace, and I'm laughing like a madwoman, crazy in love, happy to be home at last.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Moving to Victor's Village<strong>

The Capitol is an asshole.

My family and I already live in Victor's Village. We've lived there since forever, and it's our home. But now we have to move: two houses down the road, into a _new_ mansion with _new_ furniture and new _everything_.

It sucks.

We're meant to be going today, but I can't bear to just yet. So I've skived off work for the morning. I just need some time to think.

Our bike shed is round the back of our old house. The stuff in there is dirty and rusted, but after a half hour of good, solid screwing in gears and realigning cogs, I've gotten my ride up to scratch. It's nothing flash, but it reminds me of the old days. Before the Games, before Sienna, before everything.

All right, I'll admit it. The clothes I'm wearing are way too fancy for anything other than a dinner party. But I kind of want to look nice for Lucah. I am going to meet him, after all, and even though he's never cared about my looks before - he always called me a _skinny little boy_ - I can't shake the feeling of wanting to impress him, to get under his skin. I love him so goddamn much, and yet I can't help but want more.

I'm such a bitch.

The road outside Victor's Village is smooth and well-paved, one of the only roads in the District that's pretty nice to ride on. I hop onto my bike, arranging my skirt so it's comfortable to sit on, and then pedal off, not looking back. My hair streams out behind me, a river of gold. It was so much shorter before the Games, but weeks in the sunlight have allowed it to flourish, and now its uncomfortably long. I want to cut it, but Lucah tells me not to. He says it's beautiful, the most beautiful hair he's seen, and I won't deny that I like they way he wraps his fingers into it, pulling it almost painfully against my scalp as he kisses me like there's nothing to lose. And, I suppose their isn't. Except maybe our dignity, if someone spotted what we looked like. Or our innocence. But I don't want to throw _that_ away, just yet. I need to take it slow. I don't think I'd be able to handle anything as intimate like that…one day; I'd love nothing more than to do_ it_, but not just yet.

My basket bounces merrily against my chest as I ride. It's full of tulips that I picked from our garden. They're for Mariette, Lucah's mother. She's the kindest soul in the world, and always wanted a garden of her own, but the Cartwrights have never had much money. So I've decided to bring our old garden to her. It's the least I can do, the way I've been acting lately.

Because I have been weird. Sometimes I burst into tears for no reason, or scream suddenly during a pleasant conversation. I'm always on edge, and I never leave home without a dagger slid into my back pocket. I just don't feel safe anymore.

And on top of all that, I'm still seeing Sienna. She follows me around some days, asking the oddest questions and getting me to talk about my District. I think Lucah's noticed something's up; he's always looking at me, catching me off guard. And that's another reason why I'm visiting him instead of packing. I've decided it's time to tell him he's fallen in love with a psycho. I'm not looking forward to it.

I reach his house. It's a little cottage, one of many standing along the dirt track that is Rose Berry Road. The shutters are nailed shut after too many nights of gusty winds, and the paint peels off the walls in great clumps. The doorbell is broken, and the letterbox is askew.

It's my favourite place in the world.

I park my bike in the front yard, careful to not snag my candy-striped socks on the spokes of the wheel. I grab the basket of flowers and walk up the path, navigating my way through an abundance of muddy shoes and discarded gears and wires. Reaching the door, I knock three times, one slow tap followed by two quick ones. This way, Lucah'll know it's me at the door, and not one of the council members asking for the overdue water bill.

The door is wrenched open, and suddenly Lucah is there, all smiles and laughter in his bright, diamond-blue eyes. Before I can say a word, he steps outside and gives me a firm kiss, his lips parting mine and his hand resting against the small of my back. I smile into the kiss, and he pulls away as quickly as he came, grinning roguishly. I give him the finger, jokingly, but unfortunately Mariette comes to the door at that precise moment.

"Eulalie May," she scolds. "Not under this roof, thank you." I clear my throat, holding out the tulips as a peace offering. Her smile softens, and she takes them, nodding her thanks. "Off you go, then," she says. Lucah grins, kisses his mother goodbye, then follows me down the path.

When he sees my bike, his smile widens. "You fixed it, Yule?" His nickname for me is a double pun: Yule as in my name, Eulalie, and also as in my strange fetish for Christmas. I smile in return, nodding. "Well," he continues, "You all right with leaving it here, then? I want to take a walk."

We hold hands as we stroll down Rose Berry Road. "You look amazing today, Yule," he whispers. It's enough to make my cheeks flame red. He bumps my shoulder in amusement and lets the subject lie.

We head for his village park. It's a wide, open space, the only place for miles with a ground of lush, green grass. He takes me to his favourite spot - by the pond, hidden behind a great oak tree and a row of mulberry bushes - and we sit down together, so close our noses are almost touching.

It's time.

"Lucah," I begin. "I…I need to tell you something. He raises his eyebrows, but nods for me to continue. And so I tell him everything. Everything about Sienna and me in the Games, but especially about after. I tell him that I'm going mad.

He's silent for a long time after a finish, his fingers steeped together and resting beneath his chin. He finally looks up and meets my eyes. "I believe you," he says slowly. "I'll always believe you, Yule. We'll go mad together, eh?"

I stare, incredulous. He grins.

"Life's an awful, ugly place to not have a best friend, Eulalie. I understand. I'll always be here for you. And who knows? Maybe I'll get to meet Sienna one day, too."

I grab his hand in both my own. "You're my best friend, Lu. I love you, so goddamn much. Thank you."

Lucah's arms wrap around me, then, and I can feel him smiling into my hair. "I love you too," he murmurs, his voice husky and sweet. I pull back and capture his lips in a kiss, wanting to preserve this moment forever: a shadowed spot of grass by a pond, dappled sunlight pushing through the canopy above, and me and Lucah, entwined, happy and safe and absolutely and utterly insane. Together.

God, I love him, I think, and at that moment, the world is perfect.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Parcel Day<strong>

Sienna wakes me up on Parcel Day. My window is open, and a cool breeze blows through, but that's not what makes my eyes snap open. Sean's up and about, creaking the floorboards in the room next to me, but that's not what makes me stifle a scream.

What _does_ wake me is a harsh slap across the cheek by a long-fingered hand that is very, very real.

I bolt up in bed to find her sitting on the edge of the mattress, eyebrow quirked in amusement. I groan. "Oh, come now, Lillie," she grins cheekily. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"No, it's not, Sienna. But you're _seriously_ old. As in _dead_."

Sienna shrugs. "And how's that going to stop me, huh? Honestly, just use your brain, sometimes!"

I bite down my response at the irony of her statement. Brain equals logic. And ghosts certainly aren't logical. But it's as if Sienna can read my mind now, because she laughs, a high, throaty sound that I never heard when she was alive. I ignore her, pushing the sheets off my bare legs and jumping to the ground.

The outfit my stylists have laid out for me - because they're here visiting, ready to get me spruced up for the cameras today and on the Victory Tour - is an explosion of pink. Pastel cardigan with matching shoes, a pink and white patterned dress and a garland of roses for me to wear as a crown of sorts. I bite my lip. God, I hate pink. I wish they'd given me something a little more…well, me.

"Dream on," Sienna murmurs from behind me, and I realise that she knows what I'm thinking. I grab the clothes and shut myself in the en suite bathroom, breathing hard. I've seen Sienna - since her death, that is - too many times to count, but the visions still rattle me. She's supposed to be dead, and yet here I am, having a friendly (or, not so much) conversation with her! Has the world gone mad?

I pause in buttoning up my dress. Perhaps the world isn't crazy…but right now, I sure am.

Sienna's still there when I come back in, fully dressed. She holds out her arm for me to take, as if I need a chaperone, and I feel a sudden urge to burst into tears. One of my only friends is dead as a doornail - after I saw her shudder her last breaths, her chest heaving, her eyes turn glassy as they stared up at the stars they would never see again…no. _No!_ I shake that image from my mind. I've succeeded in pushing the events of the games to the far corners of my memory, where I can't think about them, but sometimes bits and pieces escape and, more often than not, reduce me to a blubbering wreck. It sucks.

The day outside is fine and sunny, albeit slightly cool. Lucah's leaning against the fence, arms folded across his chest, staring into the distance with that blue-eyed brooding look I know so well. His gaze flicks to me when he hears my footsteps, however, and his face curls into a wide grin. It only takes me a second to realise that, even though he said he believes me about the whole ghost thing, Sienna isn't showing herself to him, and he can't see her.

The thought makes me feel strangely sad.

Lucah and I walk down the road, towards the town centre where I will personally present the food parcels to my District. I'm half and half about the situation: I'm over the moon that Three will finally have enough to eat, if only for a year, but no well in _hell_ am I looking forward to announcing it.

Let's just say…public speaking isn't my strong point.

The minutes fly by, and I suddenly find myself standing in front of the Justice Building. I swallow awkwardly. The whole District has turned out, it seems - _shit!_ - and are waiting for me to speak. Lucah's in the front row, standing next to Sean and obliviously beside Sienna. She winks at me. I feel a hollow emptiness within me, realising my father isn't here. I suppose it's no surprise, given his…_delicate_ mental state, but still…I hoped he'd changed, but obviously, I'm wrong.

"Er, hi!" I say. My voice sounds sickly cheerful: not the right mood for the aftermath of the Games. I clear my throat and try again. "Hello, District Three. I'm Eulalie Valentine-Cook, and it's with great pleasure I announce today is Parcel Day!" A cheer resounds through the crowd. My palms are sticky with sweat. "Every family will receive enough food packages to last them the year…" I trail off, unsure how to end. I catch Dimitri's eye to my right, and he mouths something to me. I nod.

"Thank you all so much for your support…I couldn't have…have won without you. I hope you have a better year than the last."

I jump down from the podium immediately, scared out of my wits. The crowd claps, but I barely hear it. Instead, in my mind's eye all I see are the faces of the tributes who will never make it home, never be able to proudly present the food packages to their District…Royal, darling Royal…Tallulah from Six, who had her neck snapped in two…Ontario and Troian, who I both…who I both…

Murdered.

I'm a murderer.

I blink the images away, and plaster on a smile. It's better to put up a false front than have none at all, my mother used to say. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I do. I must stay strong, for my family and my District.

And so I smile, and wave to the crowd, and laugh at their jokes, but inside I am screaming, and the twenty-three deaths in the arena replay in my mind, over and over and over again. I will never be free.

* * *

><p><span><strong>On the Train for the Victory Tour<strong>

I stand by the window in a horrible imitation of half a year ago, when I stood in this exact same spot on the day of the Reaping. Both then and now, a horrible feeling has swollen in my gut. But before, standing here with Royal, I was positive I would never return home again. Now, all I can think about is this Victory Tour to be over, and for me to be in Lucah's arms once again.

The fences disappear from my vision. I slump back against the wall.

"Giving up so soon?"

I jump, turn, and see - surprise, surprise - Sienna standing there, a cheeky grin stretched tight across her features. I roll my eyes. "Whatever," I say. "You'd probably be pretty pissed too if you were alone, headed for the homes of people you killed. Oh, and if you were talking to a dead person. That always puts a damper on things."

Sienna shocks me, then, by stepping forward and taking my hand in hers. She interlocks our fingers and squeezes gently. "You're not alone," she murmurs, and even though she's probably a figment of my imagination, even though I've gone mad and entirely bonkers because I can see her, a warm feeling spreads across my chest and I squeeze her hand back.

"Together," I whisper, and she smiles.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Arriving in District 7<strong>

After facing the haunted looks of Twelve's citizens, the destroyed expressions of Eleven's people, the shattered lives of Eight's residents, I thought I was ready for anything.

But not this.

Never this.

I'm in Seven, now. The train's just pulled up, and for once, I wish I Sienna actually was here, hanging around like a ghost or whatever she is now. But she's not. Not this time. And I think I know why - this is her home, and she can't bear to face it, not even with me by her side.

I don't blame her.

The doors slide open silently. My hand is up at my mouth, and I'm biting my nails, ignoring the quelling glances both Floral and Karin are sending my way. I don't give a stuff what anyone thinks of me anymore. I just want this Victory Tour to be over, so I can go back home and see Lucah - and Sean, and Dad, and Fatso - again. Is that really so much to ask?

I'm lead over to the Justice Building. God, how I hate these places. And even though I'm a long way from home, the Justice Building here is an almost exact replica of Three's. It's presence gives me a disquieting feeling. I would rather do anything else than stand here, preparing to give a speech.

Ugh. I hate speeches.

The Peacekeepers lead me up to the podium. I'm facing a crowd, now, a mass of people who all know how much one of their tributes meant to me, and how much I hated the other. It's unnerving, all of them staring, and I blush, clearing my throat, fishing for something to say because everything I've rehearsed has suddenly disappeared from my mind.

"Uh, hi," I begin. "I guess you all know who I am...so, um, there's no real need for introductions." I take a deep breath. I can almost imagine Sienna by my side, breathing into my ear that it's all going to be fine. You can do this. I can do this.

"Sienna and Alistair were your tributes. And now they're gone. And I'm so sorry, for everything." I close my eyes, and suddenly it's easier to speak, to talk, to let it all out. "I'm sorry I killed your son, Mrs - and I'm sorry I let your daughter die, Mr Whishaw. I didn't want any of this."

I open my eyes, now, and see the Peacekeepers tightening their holds on their guns. I shouldn't be saying this. Oh God, what am I doing?

"But I'm glad I met them...because the Games change everyone, and not necessarily for the better. And I'm so sorry, but what's done is done, and I know - I hope - that we can just move on and...and be friends. Become friends. Because right now, I know we both need some."

All right. I've pushed it. The Peacekeepers are advancing quickly, so I step down from the podium to show them I won't be doing any more damage. They keep coming, however, their guns stiff across their chests.

I cast my gaze out over the crowd, and my eyes connect with someone else's - a boy's. He has dark hair and snapping eyes that remind me so much of Sienna I almost wonder if he's her brother - but then I see the absolutely heartbroken, devastated, grieving look on his face mingled with a love no brother would share with his sister, and I know that this is someone special.

This is Eli.

Before I can even think about what I'm doing, I jump down off the stage, pushing past the barriers to get to him. He's riveted on the spot, staring, wondering if I've gone mad. And I have, I guess. I'm certainly not thinking straight.

I reach him, and grab his arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Peacekeepers begin to raise their weapons, and I hear their warning shouts. I know this has to be quick.

I rip Sienna's ring off the chain around my neck where I've worn it the whole Tour, and I press it into Eli's hand, closing his fingers tightly around the jewellery. "It was hers," I whisper to him. "She loved you, Eli, and I mean it when I say I'm sorry."

I think he murmurs a thank you to me, but his words are lost in the uproar as a Peacekeeper grabs me and pulls me bodily from the crowd. I don't resist, instead letting myself be dragged along and back towards the train. I've done something here, something I will probably live to regret, but funnily enough, I'm happy with myself. Satisfied. Because I know that this was the right thing to do.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Arriving in District 2<strong>

By now, the Victory Tour is just getting old. I can't believe how utterly _boring_ all this is - because, yeah, it's seriously sad that everyone died and all, but honestly, there are only so many tears I can take - and there are still two Districts to go, not to mention the Capitol and then a party at home before things can get back to normal.

Fuck.

The train is slowing once again, and I follow Floral to the front doors, absently picking at the hem on my skirt as we wait for them to open. And when they do, it is a very different scene to what I've witnessed before: the streets lined with grizzled, hardened warriors, their faces taut with dislike and loathing as they look at me. I'm caught by surprise for a single moment, but then I remember that this is District Two, and the majority of people here are Careers; in other words, they hate my guts.

Oh, and I also happen to have killed both their tributes. That would probably explain the death stares, wouldn't it?

"Good luck with this one," a voice behind me says, and I don't have to turn to know it's Sienna again. I nod in agreement, a smile halfway between a grimace of pain and a smirk of disbelief stealing across my lips.

"Thanks," I murmur back, before I'm ushered over to the stage set up before the Justice Building. This one is far grander than anything I've seen before, and I can't help but marvel.

This time, standing before the podium, I've actually remembered my speech cards. They're nestled in the palm of my hand, and I take a quick glance down at them before looking back up at the crowd who stare right back at me. Whoa. This is very disconcerting. I look back down at the cards again.

"Hello, District Two. You all know who I am…and I really wish I knew who you are. You seem like a great bunch of people." I chance a glance upwards; the crowd is unimpressed. I swallow. "The Hunger Games is a chance to bring together each and every District…now, I'm from Three and your 'neighbour', I suppose, but you're really all strangers to me…so I'll keep this brief. I'm so very sorry about Troian and Ontario. I'm sure they were..._illuminating_ young adults, and I know you'll miss them. I'm sorry, and I promise things will…get better." Well, that's it, I guess. I look back over the crowd again, but there are no smiles of support or nods of understanding for me here. It's like talking to a giant stone cliff; hard, impossibly tall and imposing, and with no chance whatsoever of a reply.

I step down, already an unsettled feeling welling in my gut, thinking of the feast I'll have to have here tonight. If I'm not careful, I'll find my drinks spiked and pins in my food.

"Hey! Hey, Three!" A voice from the crowd draws my gaze once more. "Too bad we all know you don't keep you promises, huh?" The sound is coming from a bent old man; his face so squashed and gnarled and utterly familiar than I know he must be Ontario's grandfather. Or _great_-grandfather, by the looks of this guy. His mouth is twisted in what could be called a shadow of a smile. "What happened to that little boy you promised to bring home, eh? He's dead, isn't 'e? Dead! Just like you will be, you filthy little wretch-"

I clamp my hands over my ears and shut my eyes, taking deep steadying breaths and telling myself not to get mad. I sense more than hear or see a flurry of movement that tells me the guy has been detained by Peacekeepers. I risk a glance and find that he's gone from the crowd.

Taking a last look over them all, I swallow heavily. I can almost feel the hatred pouring towards me, a tangible thing that thickens the air and makes it hard to breathe. I turn away and make a run for the train, because I just can't trust myself to keep my cool for much longer.

* * *

><p><span><strong>President Snow's Party<strong>

"Remind me again why I have to do this?"

"Because you're the Victor, Lil, and it's your job."

"My job is to meet and greet? Seriously?"

"You know that if you don't, you'll be sorry."

"Sorrier than I am now, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Oh, great. Thanks a lot, Sienna. Such words of encouragement."

"Any time."

I shoot my ghostly stalker an angry glance, and then step into the room. It's already crowded with people, so I go unnoticed for a moment; only a moment, however, before Floral swoops down on me and carts me around to meet all her friends. I can't say it's an enjoyable experience, but I get a kick out of seeing all the different styles of Capitol fashion. The people here are truly mystifying to want to tattoo their breasts, or carve freaking patterns - with a bloody _knife _- into their skin. No way would I ever agree to that.

"Miss Valentine-Cook. What a pleasure."

I whirl around mid-introduction to a doddery old woman with pink dyed hair and red eyes to find myself face to face with President Snow. I curtsey. "President Snow. This is indeed an honour."

He smiles sharply at me, raking me over with his piercing eyes and making me want to go crawl in a hole and hide from the world. There's a strange feeling to the stare, also, an almost sexual-predator sense. I shudder, wishing Reyna had given me something a little sturdier than a flimsy rainbow gown without sleeves and only a necklace to cover up my bare neck. I feel exposed.

Snow finishes his examination and smiles at me, then brushes past to have a talk to Dimitri and the only surviving Victor from Twelve…what's his name…Hamish? No, Haymitch, I remember, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I take in his five o-clock shadow, rumpled suit and swaying limbs, no doubt courtesy of the alcohol I've heard he's so fond of.

I turn away and shiver again. My encounter with Snow has left me feeling…vulnerable, and I walk quickly over to an empty seat by a table. I drop into it, sighing with relief, and rub my tired eyes. I don't know where Sienna has gotten to - not that a figment of my imagination can really _go_ anywhere - and I'm not in the mood to talk with anyone else, so I merely sit there, alone, exchanging pleasantries with passing guests but never inviting a conversation, until the night dwindles away and I'm allowed to leave. And God, is it a good feeling or _what_ to walk out of those doors and into cool, comforting solitude?

I think yes. And I also think that it's time for a nap. I head towards my chambers, stumble into the bedroom and fall straight down onto the bed, not even bothering to change my clothes. I'm weary beyond anything else, and I can still feel Snow's prying eyes all over my body, so a snuggle under the sheets, wrapping the blanket firmly around my shoulders and soon fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Arriving in District 3 Harvest Festival**

Home. I arrived here an hour or so ago, and I'm still grinning. The preparations have been made for the Harvest Festival, and I've just slipped into my outfit: a floaty blue skirt and sleeveless pastel blouse. Combing out my hair, I realise how much it's grown again. I decide to chop it all off as soon as possible.

I make my way over to the hall where they will hold the feast. It's decadently arranged, and I smile at the thought of all those hungry little faces and hands seeing the utter elegance and sheer mass of the food here. It's enough to make even my small stomach rumble.

I bustle here and there, helping with preparations, and I'm just taking a time out when a pair of strong hands slips over my eyes and leaves me blind. I wriggle in their grip, laughing. "Hands off, Lucah!" He complies and I spin around to face him, so close our noses touch. He pecks me on the lips ad then draws back, spinning me around.

"You look amazing," he whispered, his eyes wide, and I blush. I'm sure he's just teasing.

"So do you," I grin.

"Well, you know. It's natural."

"I'm sure."

He laughs and looks me in the eye. "Thing's almost done here? Because there's a very large, very hungry crowd outside just waiting to come in."

"And I suppose you were sent to speed things along?"

"Actually," he murmurs, pulling me close, "I snuck in. Just wanted to see you before it becomes too busy to grab a moment alone." We kiss for a long moment, and it's the happiest I've ever felt, I think. I'm pretty sure Lucah thinks so too, because his smile is wider than I've seen it in a long, long time.

The celebrations kick off soon after, and they begin with a bang. Everyone's talking and chatting and laughing, and I'm being swapped around between people until I feel like a human Pass the Parcel. Eventually, I find myself with my family again; that is, with Sean and Dad and Fatso, who somehow managed to sneak a whole plate of sausages into his already bulging stomach. I roll my eyes at the great lug, then give my brother a quick embrace. "Having fun, Sean?" I ask, and he laughs, nodding like crazy before running off into the crowd after his friends. I smile after him, then take the vacant seat next to my father. We sit in silence for a while.

"I'm so…proud of you, Lillie," Dad whispers suddenly. I glance at him, shocked. Usually he ignores me, and everyone else around, too. His wrinkled face is lined even more so as he frowns with the effort of talking.

"Dad?" My voice trembles, hardly daring to hope…

He turns to me, his brow furrowed in thought, and my heart skips a beat, but then his eyes mist over and he seems to fold in on himself, once more lost and hopelessly confused. "Yvette?" he mumbles, staring at me, and I blink back tears. Yvette is my mother's name.

"No, Dad, it's your daughter, remember?"

A tear escapes his crinkled eyes and rolls down his cheek. "Yvette…" he repeats, and suddenly I can't bear it anymore. I stand and walk away, not bothering to turn back because I know exactly what he'll look like: hunched over, miserable, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Just like the good old days.

I escape outside for some fresh air. I was deluded to think that things would ever change just because I won the Games. No. District Three is still the same, as is the whole of Panem: tired, miserable and utterly sick of the Hunger Games that brings so much grief and despair. I wish suddenly that things could change, that we could live freely as a free people in a free land.

But I know I'm kidding myself, because the Games are never going to end. They're going to keep bringing hurt and pain and sadness to Panem because that's what the Capitol wants: a defeated country to govern easily.

And in that moment, I know that I hate them all, but especially President Snow. Thinking of his _eyes_ and his _smile_ and his creeping _stare_, I shiver, but I also harden my heart, because I know now, deep down, that I will do anything to defy him and bring happiness to all my friends and family, because they deserve so much better than what they're given.

And I will do anything to make that happen.

"And I'll be right by your side," a voice says, and I spin around to see Sienna sitting cross-legged by my side. Of _course_ she's read my mind again. She smiles, takes my hand and squeezes it, and I know that in this war I'm about to wage on the Capitol, I won't be standing alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I was so guilty that I wrote three of these prompts in one sitting…so, so sorry for the wait, guys. But it's finally over! Except for one last little chapter I plan to add on as an epilogue, which will tell you exactly what happens to Eulalie, Lucah, Sean and co during the rebellion…dah dah dum! Please review and tell me what you think.


	4. Epilogue

_**Sixty Seven**_

**Epilogue**

* * *

><p>I know the rebellion's started when the first bomb goes off.<p>

I'm in the middle of nursing Sienna, my beautiful baby girl, when the whole house begins to shake and its contents tumble about. Enna starts crying, but I don't have the time to comfort her. I race to the window, moaning quietly at the horror I see.

Victor's Village is a wasteland. Crimson and gold fires lick up buildings, devour grasses and trees. I see Karin running down the street, screaming her head off; that is, until she triggers another bomb and is blown sky high.

I gag, race for the sink and am sick into it, heaving my guts out. Sure, I'm a survivor of the Hunger Games. But this is different. I've known Karin my whole life, and while she wasn't my favourite person, it burns to know she's gone.

And there's another reason why this disaster is different, now. Because this time, the hurt and pain and death is not in the arena, safely away from families and friends. This time, it has hit far too close to home. Three is crumbling, and my heart along with it.

I grab Enna from her highchair where I left her, and then race up the stair. Thankfully, my house is still standing; for now, anyway. I race into Tallulah's bedroom, where she is huddled under the blankets and looking as scared as a five year old can get. I hold out my hand to her. "Come on, sweetheart, it's time to go. We need to go find Daddy!"

She takes my hand, and I feel her own trembling. I squeeze her fingers to offer comfort, but I'm afraid all I achieve is showing her how scared I am, too.

As a family, we run back down the stairs, two at once. There's no time to bring along our possessions; I shoulder Tallulah out the door and we begin to run. Inside the neighbouring house, I can still hear the television running: broadcasting live the Quarter Quell Games. I shudder. I was so close to re-entering the arena: the only thing that saved me was the fact I was pregnant at the time. I still am, in fact, and I know that this sprinting and screaming cannot be good for the baby.

I round the corner, headed for the town square when I fun headlong into Lucah. "Oh, god, Lucah, thank God!" I scream, hysterical. "Where's Sean? Have you seen him?" My little brother was so proud when he started his first job today, and I haven't seen him since this morning. I fear the worst.

Lucah takes me in his arms and holds me tight. "I have, Yule," he whispers, and I know the news is bad when I feel the wetness of tears on his cheeks. "I'm so sorry…the school burnt down completely. He tried to get the kids out…and he did. But he wasn't quick enough to save himself."

I feel broken, exactly how I did when Xavier was murdered in his Games. I fele like my whole life has been torn from me: first Xavier, then my mother, then my father who passed away the year after my Games from grief, and now Sean. All I have left now is Lucah, my sweet, darling Lucah, and our two wonderful children. Three, I correct myself, splaying a hand across my stomach. Lucah meets my eyes and I know it will probably be too late for us, as well.

But I can't believe that. I have to hope that Beetee will come through: that he'll send a chopper our way soon. But I know it's the slimmest possibility.

From behind me, I hear a scream. I whip my head around and see Dimitri running towards us, his clothes aflame. He's staring right at me, and I know I can't leave him behind.

"Please, love," I whisper to Lucah, handing him Sienna. His eyes widen in understanding. "No, Yule," he says emphatically, clutching out baby to his chest. "Yu can't go back in there!"

I ignore him, giving Tallulah a goodbye hug, then racing down towards my mentor, my friend for all these long years. When I reach him, the ground beneath our feet has already begun to split, cracking open from the force of the explosions. I rip off my jacket, throwing it at Dimitri in an attempt to extinguish the flames. It works. "Go!" I yell to him. "Go!"

He runs, but I can't get my feet to move. Lucah screams for me, but I'm rooted to the spot.

A chopper descends form the sky, and my heart swells with relief, giving me the strength to finally move. I wobble my way over. By the time I reach everyone, they're already in the helicopter.

The pilot sees me and grimaces. "Sorry, ma'am," he yells over the noise. "There's no more room in this one. You'll have to wait."

I guess guys like him are trained to be unemotional, because it's a wonder he's not crying and screaming along with the rest of us. I can't believe it. After everything, every _fucking_ thing, there's not enough room in the chopper? Are you fucking kidding me?

Lucah's eyes are wide. "Wait, wait!" he says in a panicked voice. "I'll get out; we'll swap-" But it's no use. He's the furthest away from the doors, and the pilot shakes his head any way.

"Can't risk any delays," he says. "I'm sorry."

The blades of the helicopter swing faster and faster, and the aircraft begins to lift off the ground. I see Tallulah's tiny little hand pressed against the glass, can hear Enna's wails even over this racket. But most of all I see Lucah, his face streaked with tears, his eyes wide with grief, wedged in next to Dimitri and two other men I recognise only by sight. I manage a smile to him.

"I'll see you again, I promise!" I yell, but it's lost to the wind, and suddenly the helicopter has lifted off and flies away until it's only a dim black dot in the fiery sky.

I'm left alone. I can hear the screams and shouts of Three from down in the square, but I'm immobile once again. I feel detached, almost, as if I'm watching the scene from a great distance. I don't feel human, but God, do I feel the pain as the street below my feet erupts and I'm blown backwards into a brick wall.

It's beyond anything I've ever felt. My metal arm feels dented, scratched, damaged beyond repair. There's a throbbing in my head and white spots dance before my vision. I can feel the baby kicking inside me, but I don't have the strength nor the will to respond.

The noise fades. So do the flames. I can feel my eyelids fluttering closed and, before I know it, the whole world vanishes into nothingness.

* * *

><p>I wake in a world of white. "I've been here before," I murmur under my breath, or try to, because my lips are dry and my mouth is parched and horribly swollen.<p>

"Well, it's about time."

I sit up, meeting the eyes of - three guesses who - Sienna. She's smiling, but I can see the worry in her eyes, and I know she's hiding something.

"This isn't real," I spit out, hacking and coughing, looking about the stark white room with disbelief.

"No," she whispers gently.

"Then it's a dream?"

A hesitation. "No."

"Then what-"

The door directly facing me opens, and inside steps my baby brother, Sean. My heart stops. Following close behind is my father, my older brother Xavier, and-

"Mum?" I ask, not understanding. "But…how…how is this possible? You're dead! All of you, you're-" And then it hits me with the force of a Capitol train. I stagger, my guts heaving, but nothing comes up but blood which splatters the white floor and then dissolves without a trace.

"This is…heaven?" I attempt a guess. Sienna takes a deep breath, in and out. "Not exactly," she replies. "It's whatever you want it to be."

"But…but I'm dead, right?"

She doesn't have to answer. The look on her face is answer enough. "But what about Lucah? And Tallulah, and Enna-"

"They're alive. Thanks to you. You died a hero." The voice isn't Sienna's. It's Mum's; a husky mix of grief and pride and contempt.

"Because that's all that matters," I say bitterly. "Being a hero? Saving the world? Well that's fucking likely, isn't it?" My mother flinches at the swear word. I turn away from her. "But what about my baby?" I say, looking down at my stomach which is now as flat as it has ever been.

Sienna sighs. "Honestly? I don't know." I blink back tears.

"But will I ever see them again? My family?"

"Of course you will."

"Yeah, once they're dead, too."

Sienna shrugs. "That's the way it has to be. But honestly? If you concentrate hard enough, you might be able to see them much sooner."

It takes a moment for her words to sink in. "Like…like you did with me?" At her nod, a smile unfurls across my face. "How? When will it happen? Why-"

"I'm afraid you need to work that out for yourself. I couldn't explain it if I tried."

I look down at the floor. Somewhere, somehow, my darling children and husband are alive, and I will find them, no matter what.

Sienna grins, reading my thoughts. "Together," she says, standing firm, and suddenly I'm reminded of our agreement all those years ago to fight against Snow, to join the rebellion. My grin widens.

"Together," I repeat, and take her outstretched hand in my own metallic one. I squeeze it tight, seeking solace, and she laughs.

"Just like old times, then, ally?"

"Exactly," I say, and together, as equals, we run out the door and into the phantom world beyond.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> IT IS COMPLETE. Please review, it would make my day. Thanks to **Ruter Dam** and **rainbowpanda0**, who've stuck through this till the very end.


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